


such as the world has never seen

by AndreaLyn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Mummy Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-21 18:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: One day, Michael is going to prove to the world that he's more than a poor orphan with anger issues -- a map to the Book of Life ought to do it, along with a guide who'll show him and his family the way, even if he's a brute and a rogue (and devilishly handsome all the same).It's only a shame that nothing in life iseasy, especially not when ancient curses get involved.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 84
Kudos: 118





	1. the voyage

**Author's Note:**

> First, this fic is dedicated to Jess, who kept me going even when I thought that there was no point or when I was so frustrated, or when I just thought I'd never finish. It's thanks to her that this exists.
> 
> Second, thanks a million to islndgurl777 for the FANTASTIC beta and for making the editing process a breeze. The title is from the Prince of Egypt soundtrack.
> 
> Lastly, if you're hankering for a version of this fic where the roles are swapped, check out [How Deep The Sand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20515262) by irolltwenties, because it's a fantastic read and proof of a hive mind when it comes to amazing movies we want to AU.

In the heat of the desert, near Hamunaptra, Alex Manes is wondering what on Earth he’s done to deserve this life. Yes, you could tell him that he’d made the choice to fight, but his father hadn’t left him many options as far as his future was concerned. Nearby, the clash of swords and guns reminds him of his supposed “choice”.

He could choose to fight or he could be disowned and lose the Manes name.

These days, the latter has been looking far more promising. 

If he makes it out alive, Alex tells himself that he’ll pay more mind to the prospect of a life outside his father’s thumb, but at the moment, he has far more pressing concerns. There’s a huge army standing opposite them, making Alex question why he ever listened to his father’s insistence that he join the Foreign Legion. Sitting here, waiting for them to attack the next line, he thinks that he’s going to die today.

At least it’ll be alongside his brother. 

Alex keeps reloading his rifle to fire off shots, but it seems that no matter how many he picks off, they keep coming. “Flint!” he shouts. “Give me your gun!” His brother has been cowering under the stone wall since the first battle cry, which frustrates Alex to no end. 

For all that his father hates Alex for the fact that he loves men and not women, at least he’s brave enough not to cower in the face of these oncoming forces.

The same can’t be said of his brother. Alex lets out a furiously frustrated sound as he reaches down and pries the rifle from Flint’s hard grip, positioning himself atop the wall and firing methodically. He hasn’t got nearly enough ammunition to repel a whole army and they’re bound to be overrun soon.

“Alex,” Flint says, voice strangled as he panics. “Alex, they’re going to capture us, we’re going to _die_ here.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t if you kept fighting!” he snaps. He channels that anger as he reloads and then turns, shouting as loud as he can as he points the gun at their enemies, only to discover something very strange. 

The part where Flint shouts at Alex that he’d rather live another day than fight his last one and takes off running isn’t surprising or strange. 

It’s a damn expected move, given that Flint’s backbone is practically made of gelatin when it comes to surviving and doing anything he can to keep going. 

What’s strange is that while Alex starts picking off the invading army, something out there begins to do it for him. It’s like the sand at their feet is alive, winding and pulling the men down into the earth like they’ve had tombs created for them without them even knowing. 

Alex lowers his gun, warily, and stares at the ground beneath his own feet because he can’t imagine that whatever’s in the ground can pick a side and that leaves him in just as much danger as any of the rest of them. He presses his back against the stone wall to reload his weapon, on the off-chance that there are any enemies left once the sand is through with them. 

In this position, he can see Flint’s last moments fleeing over the horizon, but there’s something else out there past him. 

On a distant mesa, he swears he sees something glinting in the distance, an outline of a person. Alex squints to try and see what it is, as if that will somehow quell the unnerving sensation deep in his bones about what’s just happened. Whatever had been on the ridge is gone, and the figure vanishes. 

He rises from his cover to see an empty battlefield and calm sands inside the city. From the outside of it, Alex and his men are safe. Somehow, they’ve made it through. 

From their spot at the perimeter of the city, there are many dead to account for and injured to tend to, but it’s a miracle they’ve survived. Glancing in the direction that Flint had taken off running, Alex holsters his rifle and gets to work to clear the area, making sure that no one else will be coming at them.

He pauses on the cusp of the city’s edge when he swears he hears a _voice_ , a bone-chilling warning to stay away. Their enemies have vanished beneath the sand, almost like they never truly existed. 

“Let’s move,” he calls to the other troops, choosing not to linger in this odd place. 

Something very strange has happened here at Hamunaptra and Alex isn’t the sort of man to chance his luck and find out _what_.

* * *

_Four Years Later_

The letter came this morning and ever since Michael read it, he’s been _angry_.

“What do they know?” he’s muttering to himself as he clomps his way up the ladder with too many books pressed against his chest, making him lean backward to accommodate them. “Dear Mr. Guerin, we’re sorry to tell you that you’ve been rejected because we’re too stupid to actually see talent where it is.” He shoves two books into their spaces with such force that the bookshelf wobbles, but he barely pays any attention to it. 

He adjusts his glasses and peers at the next few books. 

“Despite this being the third time that you’ve applied, our heads are still in our asses,” he keeps ranting, and that’s another book, then another. “What a shame that we can’t take you on, despite you being overqualified, underappreciated, and _wildly deserving_!” he snaps, and puts all the force behind both hands as he slams the book on Tuthmosis into its rightful place. 

The bookshelf doesn’t only wobble this time. 

It collapses, slamming against the next in the line. Michael stumbles off the ladder, tripping down to the ground in a heap as he watches books go flying, bookshelves colliding, and _chaos_ erupting around him. 

Michael staggers on unsteady footing as he watches with horror as the very last bookshelf plummets to the ground, leaving none standing. 

When silence finally permeates the room, Michael’s able to see the damage that he’s done, stunned at how awful it looks, even for him (and that’s saying something, considering the type of damage he’s prone to do in one of his angry fits).

“…fuck,” Michael exhales. 

It's too much to hope that no one will notice. Within seconds, he’s proven right to think he could get away with it. He hears the frantic sound of footsteps before Jim Valenti appears in the doorway, aghast and horrified by the sight in front of him. “Mr. Guerin.”

“Yes?” He’s standing, brushing himself off, pretending like he hasn’t just caused a complete disaster. Given the fact that there are pages flying in the air around him from the high impact that just happened, he’s probably not going to get away with that for very long. 

“Would you care to explain what natural disaster occurred here? Or am I to believe that the tornado known as Michael Guerin has struck us again?” 

What’s he supposed to tell Jim? _I’m sorry that my anger got the best of me and I managed to destroy a whole library in the process_ feels like it’ll come up short. Maybe the Bembridge scholars are right not to take him, because he can’t even manage to return books without it becoming a disaster. 

Shoulders sagging, he gives Jim an exhausted look. “It was my fault,” he admits, taking the blame despite the fact that it’s likely going to lose him his job. He knows that it had been a freak accident that the shelves had gone, but it had been his anger that had pushed them to that state. 

Jim looks at him sympathetically, but that doesn’t stop him from being as pissed off as he rightfully is. “I can’t afford to keep you on anymore. I know your adopted parents were great contributors to the library, but you are…” Michael braces himself for what’s about to come. Jim sighs, and then waves a hand at him. “Go. For now, take the next day off, while I think about what I’m going to do with you.”

He storms out of the room, leaving Michael in his wake.

Around him, the destruction seems impossible to reckon with, but Michael still begins to tidy up as much as he can. He’ll ask for Max’s help with the bookshelves to get them righted again, but for now he manages to organize books on the table until his hands grow achingly tired from the motions. 

Looking around, it seems as though he hasn’t made a dent at all. 

Depressed, dejected, and still so _angry_ , Michael digs into his satchel to find the liquor that he’d been storing with the hopes of celebrating, trudging outside to sink down onto the marble steps of the library. He stares at the horizon, watching the sun setting, his eyes on the pyramids looming above Cairo as a reminder to Michael that although he’s so close to being where he wants to be, his dreams remain out of reach. 

That’s where his adopted siblings find him, drinking from a flask. Max settles on one side of him and Isobel on the other. “That kind of day?” Isobel asks, reaching over to take the flask from him, to take a drink of her own.

“I wrecked the library,” Michael admits with a groan. “I got rejected _again_ because…because I don’t know. Maybe I don’t have the right reputation or they don’t think I can fill their coffers, but they won’t take a chance on me and I got angry. I think Valenti is really going to fire me this time, even if he owes your parents one.”

“Michael…”

Michael rolls his eyes. This isn’t the time for one of Max’s lectures, and he gives his brother a look that implies how little he wants to hear it. “I get it. I’m irresponsible, I should control my emotions, I should try harder, but I am trying! I’m an amazing librarian, I’m smarter than anyone they have, and no one knows more about ancient Egyptian lore than I do, but they just don’t…they don’t…”

They never listen.

He sags forward, defeated. “I’m getting fired,” he says, because he feels like this time he really won’t be able to escape his fate. 

There’s no way that he can do what he has and not suffer the consequence for it. He hasn’t got money; he’s only got the one connection and even that’s tenuous at best. After all, the Evans’ had adopted him after a few years of Michael being shuffled from home to home, but they’ve been gone for years. Their money is also drying up and Michael hadn’t received as much as the Evans’ twins had. This time, he really thinks Jim is going to give him the sack.

It's hopeless. Maybe he should move back to the States and pursue another line of work. One day, his anger is going to get him into the kind of trouble that his family can’t buy his way out of, and he doubts that anyone is liable to start taking the poor, angry orphan seriously.

Isobel leans forward and pokes at Max’s knee. “Show him.”

“Show him what?” Michael asks warily, wondering if they’ve completely missed how utterly dejected he feels. He hasn’t got the energy for whatever antics Max and Isobel have managed to get into, especially seeing as he hasn’t seen them in over two days. Led on by Isobel’s impetuous desires and Max’s willingness to do anything for her, he almost dreads what this could be.

“Max has something that’ll cheer you up. He picked it up when he was playing cards with a local group a few weeks ago. We’ve been holding onto it for the right time, but since you’re in such a bad mood, he thought maybe this could cheer you up!”

“Isobel wanted me to win it,” Max cuts her off flatly. “Because she thinks it’ll sell for a good price.”

Isobel smiles sweetly, but Michael stops paying attention to her money lust when Max presents the object to him. It’s a beautiful little puzzle-like piece. He slides his fingers over it, tilting it sideways as he studies it, shoving his glasses back on his face to get a better look. He can hear Isobel and Max bickering over the value and the purpose of it when Michael’s fingers find a catch and it springs open to reveal…

“That’s a map,” Isobel says, eyes widening with delight, leaning in to steal it from him to open it. “Michael, this looks like a treasure map.”

What it actually looks like is an ancient Egyptian artifact with some old parchment inside, but Michael’s eyes land on the city at the very top of it, wondering if this could somehow be real. His fingers trace over the name and he can feel an old longing in his soul for a book that he didn’t think he would ever be able to find, but here in his hands is a map that can lead him towards it. 

The trouble is that the map has no compass and hardly any directions, so try as Michael might, he thinks that it’s useless without the person who owned it. 

“You need to take me to the person you won this from,” he tells Max insistently. 

“That…could be a problem.”

Michael doesn’t really care. “Max,” Michael insists. “This could lead us to the Book of the Living,” he says, his eyes wide. “The Golden Book,” he says, which is sure to get Isobel on board. He’s not sure how this could be a problem, he grabs at Max’s sleeve. “You wanted to distract me; this is an excellent distraction! Why can’t we go talk to who had it?”

“Well, because I lost the poker hand,” Max admits, a conflicted look on his face. “Then Isobel stole it from him, right before the police came in to arrest him.” 

Michael’s face falls as he realizes what Max is saying. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he decides, all his anger from earlier and his defeat mutating into something steely and stubborn. Now that he has a plan in mind, that’s the only thing that Michael’s thinking about, and he intends to get his way. “Isobel, I’ll find you the treasure,” he vows. “Max, if you want me to be distracted from the _idiot_ scholars, then this is it. Please? For us? You need to take me to the prison,” he insists. “And we need to get the man who held this map to show us to Hamunaptra, no matter what it takes.”

He’s on his feet and he’s _determined_ , filled with a passion that he hasn’t felt since…well, since he put in his last application and told himself that this was going to be the time that they saw beyond Michael’s past and into his promise for the future. 

“Max,” he pleads, and gives Isobel a look that insists that she help out.

She rolls her eyes, but it’s all for show. After all, the promise of golden treasure has already lured Isobel in for the prospect of this adventure and pleasing Michael is a by-product that she will happily accept. “Come on, Max,” she encourages, wrapping her arms around his bicep and drawing herself in. “You know you want to.”

Max sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I absolutely don’t,” he admits, “but it is Michael’s turn to pick our adventure.”

Michael pushes his glasses back up his nose as he stands there, utterly in delight at his victory over Max’s common sense, knowing that even though it might be a terrible idea, they’re going to be in it together. Clapping his hands together, he decides he’s not going to wait around for Jim Valenti to fire him. He’s going to go out there and find something that will make him indispensable.

First, though, “How do we get into the prison?” Michael asks, because while he’s managed to get himself in a few rough spots, they always bail him out before he’s arrested for his transgressions. 

From the look on Max’s face, where they’re going isn’t going to be very pleasant at all.

“Just remember,” Max warns, and lets Michael haul him to his feet, “that you asked for this.”

Michael will, to his very last days, and he gives Max an encouraging smile to reassure him of that very fact.

* * *

The prison looms large and decrepit above them. Instantly, Michael says a quiet prayer of gratitude to both Max and Isobel (and mainly their money) for ensuring that Michael’s multiple bar fights have never landed him inside here. He may be a librarian, but his temper runs hot and there have been one too many idiots who thought that he was on their level.

Still, he’s not sure how to reconcile this building and the prison as a place for an intrepid explorer in possession of a secret map. 

“You’re sure he’s here,” Michael asks warily, positioned inside the gates of the prison.

“The police came to arrest him right after the game, said that he’d been witnessed in Cairo doing something illegal,” Max confirms, checking the name against the one on the manifest that the guard shows him. 

They’ve refused to let Isobel into the prison, which leaves Michael following after Max nervously. He pushes up his thick-rimmed spectacles as he walks slowly inside, holding the map tightly in a sheath of papers, protective of the information at hand. Around them, the loud hollering and braying of prisoners makes Michael tense up.

This would be the worst place in the world to let himself get angry and stubborn, so he reminds himself that he’s here on a mission.

“Which cell is he in?” Michael turns to ask the guard, but he doesn’t seem inclined to do anything for them. Frowning, he’s left in the middle of a riotous jail with a guard who clearly doesn’t want to do anything. “You have to lead us to him,” he insists. 

“No,” says the guard, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Michael’s frustration is ready to boil over and if he doesn’t get his way, then he might have to revert to old ways and pickpocket the keys himself. “Max!” he protests, his voice shaky with the need. “Tell him that we need to talk to the prisoner because…”

“Sir,” Max cuts Michael off, with an infinitely calmer tone than Michael is projecting at the moment. “What my brother means to say is that we would be very appreciative if you were to let us have an audience with the prisoner.” He takes out a small fold of bills and presses it into the guard’s hand. “ _Very_ appreciative.” 

It turns out that this is exactly what he’s been waiting for. 

Michael’s temper flares briefly, but the money greasing the guard’s palm seems to do the trick and he nods his head to encourage the men to follow after him. They’re brought to a sunny, public-lit place in the prison with no roof to guard them from the elements, and then are brought over to a single prisoner’s cell, where a shape crouches in the shadows.

“This is the one you wanted,” the guard says as he uses his baton to rattle the bars of the cell, catching the attention of a dirty-looking foul-smelling man on his knees behind the bars of the cell they’re facing. “Manes. I wouldn’t trust him with anything, though, he’s not right in the head.”

Michael ignores him, and takes the map from his pocket to approach the cell. Max tries to hold him back, but Michael’s never been good about listening to his brother when he wants something, and he’s never wanted anything more than this. The prisoner glances over his shoulder, sensing his company, and drags himself over into a standing position. He lazes forward, his arms (and his shackles) trailing through the bars, and he studies Michael, Max, and then the map.

Then his gaze slides back to Michael, like he’s trying to figure him out. It’s as if he thinks Michael is a problem, but Manes clearly doesn’t know yet that he’s the solution to all of Michael’s troubles. He will soon, though.

“This is your map, yes?” Michael clarifies, all while the prisoner catches his gaze and holds it firmly.

Michael feels caught up in his gaze, drifting forward towards the bars. He needs to know that if they do manage to get him out of here to give them clues about the map’s origin, then they’re not making a mistake trusting the wrong person. Shoving his nerves down, he steps closer, leaning towards the bars as he looks over the man’s weeks-old scruff and how his hair is to his shoulders, matted, and clearly he isn’t eating enough given his cheekbones.

“It _was_ my map,” he agrees, his eyes sliding to Max. That unblinking and accusatory gaze must unsettle him, because Max clears his throat and steps aside, mumbling about how it’s a very nice prison, before he goes on to ask the guard about the infrastructure.

Michael ignores his idiocy because he has more important things to think about. 

“This map shows the way to Hamunaptra,” Michael says excitedly, and if it really does belong to Manes, then he’s telling the man information that he already knows. “Where did you get it?”

“The city itself,” Manes replies, his gaze boring into Michael’s.

Michael laughs with dismissive incredulity. “You’re telling me that a city that no one has seen in decades, a city that’s rumored lost, you found it and you found it _in_ that place,” he says warily. He’d thought maybe the map had been some old relic or something passed down to him.

The implication that the man has actually been there is wild. 

“You don’t have to believe me, but I’ve been there,” Manes guarantees. “I can get you there too, if you take me with you.” He wiggles his wrists, the chains around them jangling as he eyes Michael. “I won’t even charge you more than the freedom I get from getting out of this shitty place and a small daily stipend, of course.”

Michael doesn’t even know what Manes has been arrested for, but the prospect of getting to the city with his help looms before him. He might be a genius, but every logical voice in his head is currently being shut down by the prospect of shoving this directly in the face of every Bembridge scholar there is. If he finds Hamunaptra, maybe he’ll develop his _own_ society.

Lucky for him, he has one source of rationality left, even if Michael doesn’t feel inclined to listen. “Michael,” Max says quietly. “He’s a criminal.”

Manes’ gaze turns sharply to Max, like he’s only just remembered his presence, but he clearly doesn’t look too pleased at being accused of anything by a man who’d stolen something from him. 

As quickly as he had turned to look at Max, his attention slides back to Michael in a fixed way that should be disconcerting, but Michael is fascinated by this man. 

“You want to know why I was arrested?” Manes asks Michael, shifting so that his forearms slide a little over the bars as he shifts towards him. 

He can hear Max warning him not to get any closer, but at the same time, Michael’s too curious to ignore this offer. He drifts close enough to see the color of Manes’ eyes, how his beard is growing in haphazardly and looks awfully itchy, and how his hair hangs past his ears in greasy, unwashed strands. He smells like a barge, and Michael fights his gag reflex as he leans closer.

“Come closer, it’s a secret,” he whispers.

Michael grabs hold of the bars and leans in, ignoring Max’s warnings that this doesn’t seem like a good idea. 

It doesn’t matter. 

He can see the path gleaming before him and this prisoner (mangy and awful-looking as he is) is the one who can get them there. His heart pounds in his ears as he leans in, waiting to hear what crime the man committed, and how they can convince someone to let him out.

“Well?” Michael demands, adjusting his glasses when it doesn’t seem like Manes intends to give him an answer. He needs to know how much of a liability he’ll be if they decide to bring him along. “Why are you here?”

He's expecting a litany of crimes listed out – maybe even a violent reaction, but what Michael isn’t prepared for is Manes reaching through the bars, grabbing hold of Michael by the collar and hauling him in to kiss him on the lips, in a shocking and _passionate_ moment that has Michael stumbling right back into Max’s arms as soon as he realizes what’s happening and his brain convinces him to pull away. He feels Manes’ fingers slide over his cheeks as he does, but Michael is left reeling with…with disgust? With disgust. Yes, he’s absolutely disgusted.

The smell does have something to do with it, he admits. The kiss itself had been…

Michael says nothing, but his fingers drift to his lips, like he can still feel Manes’ lips there on him.

He’s too stunned to speak, staring at Manes as a guard knocks Manes to his knees, the head guard behind them sighing. “I warned you. He’s not right. We arrested him on a tip about his illegal perversions,” he says derisively. “He’s going to hang tomorrow.”

“What?” Michael’s yanked from his shock by that and he stares at Max with a frantic look. “No! You can’t! Max!” he pleads, yanking on his sleeve, and he wants his brother to dig out the cash that he knows is lining his pockets in order to pay the man off. “Max, please,” he insists, turning to his brother to whisper frantically to him. “Once we get there, there’ll be treasure enough for all of us, and I’ll be able to pay you back.”

Max doesn’t look entirely convinced, but Michael knows that he has to get through to him. 

“Please,” he begs again. “I don’t ask you for much,” he reminds his older brother, which is true. 

Isobel is the one who always has a favor in mind, but Michael is the quiet one. He does his work, he keeps his head down, and while he’s never had much luck, he does his best with what he’s been given. For the first time in his life, he really wants something and he can see it going up in smoke if they can’t get Manes out.

Max sighs and gives Michael a long look. “Are you sure about this?”

He's not. 

The prisoner that can help them find the book is a dirty, unwashed, _rude_ , brute of a man who’d kissed Michael out of nowhere, and he could be lying about the city, but something in Michael says that they should trust him. Instead of saying that, he nods vehemently. “Yes,” he lies, because he can bear to be uncertain while they travel. “Max,” he begs.

Max sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” 

And yet, even though he’s clearly upset, he digs through his pockets and has a quiet conversation with the guard. The entire time, Manes keeps his eyes on Michael, as if he’s the one who’s bribing the guard instead of Max. Instead of directly meeting Manes’ gaze, Michael avoids it, his cheeks flushed as he tries not to feel unnerved by the constant staring.

The head guard looks wary, but one glance down at the cash in his palm seems to erase all his doubts. “We’ll release him at dusk,” he says. 

“I’ll be here to make sure you do,” is Max’s calm warning. 

Michael knows that tone of voice and he’s glad that the guard seems to understand it for the threat that it is. “Thank you,” Michael whispers, and if they were anywhere else, he’d bury his face in Max’s neck with a chest-crushing hug of gratitude. As it stands, he manages to fumble with his glasses as he watches Manes being led out in his chains, back into the prison complex. With Max’s guarantee that he’ll wait there until dusk, Michael takes his leave to head back outside, knowing that they can’t let Isobel remain out there on her own for too much longer. 

She’d made a comment when she’d been barred that she couldn’t join them because she’s absolutely too pretty and something would have happened to her. Apparently, she hadn’t been wrong. Only, it had happened to Michael and not to her. On his way out, he can’t quite shake the wary feeling that warns him about what they’re doing, not even when he comes to a stop beside Isobel.

To reassure himself that they’re doing the right thing, he rests his hand over the map in his pocket to make sure it’s still there.

“Well? Are we going to find some treasure?” Isobel asks, her eyes bright.

“We have a guide,” Michael says. “But I don’t know if this is a good idea. He’s very rough around the edges.”

“Michael,” Isobel laughs. “That’s a bit judgmental, coming from you.”

True, so what is it about Manes that makes him feel like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff? He could tell Isobel everything about the prison encounter, but some part of him wants to keep it private for now. He’s sure that Max will tattle on him eventually, but as he raises two fingers to touch his lips, he tries to reconcile what he’s feeling. Heart pounding, cheeks flushed, and a dizzy sensation overtaking him, Michael tells himself that it’s simply worry that they’re bringing a prisoner with them, and one with odd tastes, into the desert. 

Shouldn’t he be furious at Manes for daring to kiss him like that? Anyone else in Cairo who had tried that trick would have walked out with a black eye and a lesson about Michael’s temper. And yet, rather than feeling his fury rise like Sekhmet sending a plague upon those who angered her, Michael instead feels _curious_.

It's as if something has awoken in him that he’s been keeping long buried, and Manes is the archaeologist who’s chiselled it out.

“We have packing to do,” Michael insists, because that should be the only thing that matters. “Tomorrow, we’ll find a boat to lead us to Hamunaptra and Manes will bring us to the city with the map’s help.”

The rest is a concern for another day.

* * *

“That’s the last of our bags on the ship,” Max says, wandering down the plank and brushing his hands off on his sides. He adjusts his hat, sighing as he gives Michael and Isobel a long look, like he’s trying to convince them that this is a bad idea. “Are we really sure about this?”

“We freed a man from prison, Max,” Michael retorts from where he’s sitting on someone else’s luggage trunk, Isobel perched beside him. “Besides, I know that you end up loving everything I’ve taught you over the years. You want to find the book as much as I do,” Michael says knowingly, leaning over to nudge Isobel lightly in the shoulder. “And I know she wants the money, which means we’ll all get something we want.” 

Max can indulge in his bookworm tendencies about the text itself and all that old Egyptian poetry lining the pages, Isobel can get her cash to help with her spending habits, and Michael can get the satisfaction and the notoriety from being the first person in millennia to find the Book of Life and earn his place as a Bembridge scholar.

They only need their guide. 

“Fine,” Max grumbles. “I’ll be on the ship,” he says, and hands them their tickets, along with Manes’. “Try not to get into too much trouble between now and then?”

Michael should feel insulted that he’s addressing him specifically and not Isobel, but historically it usually is Michael who finds himself in the kind of hot water that requires a rescue, so he can’t even blame Max too much. 

They watch him go and settle back in to wait. 

They’ve been waiting by the boat for almost half an hour with no sign of Alex Manes after Max had left their sides. Michael’s beginning to think that the man had taken one look at his freedom and had decided that rather than be an honorable and dignified gentleman and hold up a deal, he’d rather run off and live his life. It’s not even like Michael can blame him, but it means that their one way of getting to Hamunaptra is gone. 

“He’s late,” Isobel says, as if Michael needs reminding.

He can feel the disappointment swallowing him whole, but maybe it’s a good thing. After what happened at the prison, he’s not entirely sure how he would have acted around Manes for the whole journey, not just because of that undignified and awful kiss, but because of that little part of Michael that had _liked_ it.

He’d never thought of himself like that before, but last night, he’d dreamt about those hands tangled up in his lapel, Manes’ lips on his, and that glimmer of mischief and longing in his eyes when he’d been pulled away.

“Maybe we’re better off without him,” Michael says, trying to ignore the way his heart is thumping at the recollection of the kiss. “He’s a brute of a man, anyway. Isobel, you should have seen him. Rough around the edges, smelled like a trash heap, an utter… _rogue_.”

“He sounds interesting,” comes a voice from behind them. “Will I get to meet him on the trip?”

Michael turns to curse at whoever’s decided to rudely interrupt them, but trails off when he peers up at the most handsome man he’s ever seen. Upon closer inspection, Michael also realizes that he knows that voice and he knows those eyes. They just so happen to belong to the rogue that Michael had been denigrating only seconds ago.

“I…” Michael stammers, pushing his glasses back up his nose, as if he needs to get a better look at Manes, because how can this possibly be him?

He’s shaved and cut his hair so that it’s tamed and flows gently in the breeze by the river. He’s wearing a white button-down and khakis, gun holsters tugging on his chest, and the tan coat he’s wearing overtop makes him look absolutely dignified. This can’t possibly be the same man that Michael had met in the prison.

He even _smells_ better, of sandalwood and balsa.

His heart pounds ever harder, stunned and unsure what to say. Clearly, it amuses Manes given the way he smirks at Michael before turning to Isobel. He lifts her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “I’m Alex Manes. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Will you be joining us on this suicide quest?”

Isobel raises her brows. “Here I thought it was more of a research expedition and a shopping trip for me.”

Michael’s grateful for Isobel’s candor, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “She’s honest, my sister is,” he jokes, and something in Alex’s expression softens, as if he’s relieved to hear that. Isobel smiles winsomely and stands, fanning herself with her decorative piece. She turns to give Michael an expectant look, but he’s too stunned to go just yet. “I’ll see you aboard. Make sure the rooms are suitable for me,” he says, because he knows Isobel’s bread and butter.

She won’t be content unless they’re in the very finest of accommodations.

She leaves to join the ship, but Michael isn’t ready to go yet. Alex isn’t, either, which makes Michael somewhat wary about why he’s lingering the way he is. Maybe he wants to talk about what happened at the prison. Maybe he has something to tell Michael?

Instead of anything that might shed light on their delay, Alex steps forward, shifting his bag to his back, before he does something _completely_ untoward. If Michael hadn’t had a dose of it at the prison, he thinks he might have spluttered in shock. As it is, it’s still a possible thing.

“You’re on my trunk,” comes Alex’s even comment, and without warning he reaches down to grab Michael by the hips, hauling him onto his feet and square into his space.

He yelps as he’s pulled to his feet, then swiftly pulled into Alex’s arms. This close, he can see the clean shave, he can smell it on him, and he can see his pulse beating. His eyes are incredible, dark and mysterious, and his hair falls on his forehead in an artfully swept way. Michael could reach out and tangle his fingers in the kerchief around Alex’s neck, or tug him in by the suspenders.

He could kiss him again.

That traitorous little voice in his head needs to quiet itself, because he’s just been yanked about like a rag doll by a _criminal_ and that doesn’t work for him.

Michael practically falls over himself as he steps to the side in a huff, giving Alex an indignant look as he shoves his glasses up his nose. “Excuse me, get your hands off me, you…you…” Alex is smirking at him, and that stokes all of Michael’s anger. “Asshole,” he hisses under his breath, even though he knows it’s a slippery slope when he lets his anger get the better of him.

Alex’s eyes are sparkling with mischief as he gestures to the trunk. “I needed my things. You were on them.”

“You could have asked!”

“This seemed easier,” Alex replies easily, bending down to start dragging the trunk aboard the ship, his biceps flexing as he works, the shirt straining tightly against them. 

On the dock, Michael gapes at the display, especially as beads of sweat begin to trickle down Alex’s neck. It’s hardly water, but Michael thinks that he could lick up every droplet on his neck and still do nothing about how parched he is. With his whole body feeling electrified and alive, Michael only gets moving when he hears the call for ‘all aboard’.

If he misses his ship because he’s so bamboozled by a rogue, Max will never let him live it down. Besides, he’s made of sterner stuff than this. Michael tells himself that Alex is just some man, a criminal at that, and he’s not about to let him get the better of him.

He’s Michael Guerin, and this is his expedition. He’s not going to let anyone make him feel out of control, not now.

* * *

With the boat well underway on the Nile, the siblings go in different directions, despite Alex’s warning that they all ought to stick together. He watches Isobel drift towards the card table with Max in her wake, something that he appears to be in the habit of doing, given his long-suffering sigh.

Alex spends some time unpacking their things in the cabin they’ve hired, before deciding to head back out onto the main deck of the ship.

He’s not sure where Michael’s got to. In his search for him, he doesn’t find Michael (a shame, because he can’t help but enjoy poking at the man, especially to see the way he flushes so prettily), but he does run into a table of men that he’d rather not see ever again, along with Isobel making herself at home in their midst.

“Dad,” Alex greets icily. 

He’s not alone. His two eldest brothers are sitting at the table with Jesse Manes, and Isobel clearly has no idea what she’s walked into. Max has his nose in one of Michael’s books, making notes in the margins (and Alex hasn’t known Michael very long, but he suspects that if he found out about this, he’d be livid).

Isobel glances between them, arching her brow. “You didn’t mention you had family. Didn’t they know that you were in prison?” 

There’s a tacit implication, there, that Alex’s family should have been the ones to free him on their own dollar.

“Of course they did,” Alex replies, his tone no warmer. In fact, if it were possible, his demeanor right now would freeze the desert. “He’s the one who called the police on me. What are you doing here, Dad?”

“We’re going to Hamunaptra,” Jesse tells him evenly. “Interesting, though, that you wouldn’t take your family, but you’re here with strangers, going to the same place.”

“Who says I’m going to Hamunaptra?” he demands.

His steely lie is unfortunately no good, seeing as Isobel and Max are both wearing guilty expressions, which means that one or both of them have already spilled their destination and their plan to them. Alex pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering if Michael is the only one of the siblings who inherited a brain. 

It doesn’t matter if Jesse says he’s going, that doesn’t mean he’ll actually get there. 

“You don’t have a map,” Alex says, affecting a faux-sulk, like he’s truly upset by this turn of events. “Seems a shame for you, Hunter, and Harlan to be searching around in the desert blindly. Maybe it’s best if you go grave-robbing somewhere else,” he suggests, with enough steel in his voice to forge a dozen swords.

The problem with his father is that he’s got an excellent poker face. It explains why his pot is so highly stocked (though Isobel doesn’t look to be doing too poorly either). When he stares down Alex, it’s unblinking, and that means either he’s bluffing incredibly well or there’s information he holds that Alex doesn’t know about.

“I don’t need a map,” Jesse says.

There’s a sinking sensation in his stomach as Alex realizes that it’s the latter. This isn’t a bluff.

“Flint was right there with you and he knows the value of supporting his family,” Jesse continues calmly, glancing down at his cards. 

Turning, Alex glances behind him to see Flint lurking in the shadows, clearly trying to stay out of Alex’s sight. Isobel and Max are watching with fascination, clearly trying to figure out the family dynamics at play, but Alex can barely see right now for the incandescent fury that he’s facing.

“Flint,” Alex snaps. “How much is Dad paying you to do this?”

“Who says he’s paying me anything?” Flint replies aggressively.

Alex should have known. Jesse hadn’t given Flint an option, and he wonders what it is that Jesse is using to blackmail Flint into doing this. Maybe it is money, or maybe there’s information that Jesse holds that he’s using to dangle over Flint’s head. His brother always had been too cowardly to take a stand and fight.

Then again, Alex fought back and he’d been arrested for going against his father. If it weren’t for Michael, he’d still be rotting in that cell, waiting to hang. Maybe fighting isn’t always the smart play, but at least he’s not sucking up to his father in the hopes of getting some kind of validation.

“He says I’ll get a portion of the treasure,” Flint admits, his eyes shining with that hope, like that will make the rest of it worth it.

Alex shakes his head and wonders if he can jump off the side of the ship and swim for shore so he can escape any obligation that forces him to work in proximity to his family. What stops him is the dual thought of breaking his word and then the image of Michael’s disappointment if Alex were to abandon him.

There’s that third thing too – the prospect of one-upping his family and getting to Hamunaptra and its treasures before them would taste awfully sweet. Inhaling deeply to steady himself, he leans over the table so that his gaze is fixed on Isobel only, he looks down at the pot of money in the middle of the table, the current bet, and then her supremely confident smile.

“Take them for everything they’ve got,” he encourages. 

Max groans from behind her, but Isobel is encouraging them to raise as Alex walks away. He can feel their eyes fixed on him as he goes, furious that they’re able to get in his head like this, but he’d spent countless nights in that jail cell thinking about what would happen when he next came face to face with his father.

It turns out, a few icy words and then the anger simmering within him is the best that he could muster.

That dark mood lingers like a storm cloud over him as Alex stomps around the ship to try and calm himself. Even that doesn’t do it, so he’s left going back to the room to grab his bag of weapons, intending to do an inventory. When he makes the rounds to the back of the ship (the furthest he can get from his family), he finds Michael nose-deep in a book, consulting the map by candlelight every few moments.

That same twisting, hopeful feeling rises in Alex as he stares at him, one he has to tamp down when Alex reminds himself of the trouble that got him locked in prison in the first place. 

He idles closer and drops his bag of weapons on the table, making Michael jolt with the shock, but clearly, he’s gotten the man’s attention. Maybe Alex should be concerned that his methods of flirtation are childish at best, but there’s something that sings in him when Michael glares at him, because he might not be well-liked, but he’s got his attention.

“You’re kind of a rude asshole, aren’t you?” Michael snipes, trying to pretend like he’s still reading his book, but he hasn’t turned the page since Alex planted himself. From what Alex had observed earlier as they’d been boarding the ship, he’s much faster of a reader than that, so Alex has his _full_ attention.

He can’t help his amused smirk as he settles on the other side to start cleaning out his guns. “Is this about the prison?” he wonders, because other than being a little late (he had to get ready), he can’t think what’s so rude about him. “You wanted to know what got me arrested, I thought a little proof was necessary. It wasn’t so bad a kiss, was it?” Alex asks, his attention fixed on Michael’s face for his reaction.

It’s worth every second spent staring.

Michael’s cheeks flush and he rubs at them with his bent fingers. He finally sets the book down like he’s admitting that he’s distracted. In the glow of the candlelight beside them, his curls gleam coppery in one light, then golden the next, as beautiful as any treasure Alex has seen coming back from the dig sites. 

“I’ve had better kisses from my brother,” is Michael’s haughty response. “That wasn’t much of a kiss at all,” he keeps going, and Alex would think he has no chance, if not for the fact that Michael keeps going, “Besides, you shouldn’t go around kissing people when you reeked the way you did. It was…very unpleasant, really, absolutely, the worst…”

The librarian certainly does protest too much, earning a confident smile from Alex as he sits back in his seat. 

“My brothers don’t kiss like that, but if you’re curious, they’re all on this ship,” Alex complains sharply, taking out one of his knives so he can sharpen it. 

Alex watches how the candlelight changes in illuminating his expression from here. It glints off the sharp knives, and he knows that he can take out his aggression by stabbing or shooting someone, but they’re in the middle of dignified company, so he doubts that’s going to be an option.

Michael doesn’t seem to know what to do with that new information. “Your brothers?”

“Dear old Dad is here with them,” Alex says, voice filled with derision. “They might look handsome and attractive to the unknowing eye, but they’re jackasses who’d follow my father to their graves. None of them came after me when I was locked up,” he keeps going, stabbing one of the knives into the table, causing Michael’s eyes to widen in alarm.

Alex knows that he shouldn’t rant and ramble like this to a stranger, but at this point, what’s the worst that can happen? Michael already knows what he was arrested for and he doesn’t seem inclined to run after his brothers to seek out that kiss.

That’s a good thing. Alex is fairly sure he might shoot them out of jealousy if that were to happen.

“What are they here for?” Michael asks warily. “Why are you with us instead of them?”

Alex doesn’t think they have time to get into the laundry list of faults that his family has going for them, so he thinks he’ll stick with the big divisive point that he’s sure Michael will hear from Isobel later, anyhow. “My father was the one who sent the police in Cairo after me,” he says evenly, cleaning out his pistols. “ _Because_ of who I am, that I would rather be with another man than lie about myself.” He tips his pistol a little to look down the barrel in the candlelight, which is a poor light source and Michael’s eyes are surely straining, even with his glasses. “What kind of family is that?”

“Sometimes, I wonder if not having parents at all is better than having a terrible set,” Michael admits. “I don’t even remember my parents. They were in a terrible accident. Then Max and Isobel’s parents took us in, but they we lost them as well. The three of us had to make our way. The only luck of the matter is that Max and Isobel’s parents had money and I was the lucky adopted child,” he says, staring at his book. “They kept me with them, made sure I wouldn’t be left out, but I’m still as good as a penniless orphan in reputation everywhere else, because I was only with the Evans for a matter of years before they passed.” 

Michael holds up the book he’s been reading, now that it’s closed. Keeping his page is a letter where Alex can read the words, _Dear Mr. Guerin_. 

“I’ve been rejected more times than I can count by prestigious societies because of my temperament, my lack of good manners, my lack of connections,” he says with a sneer, but there’s pain his eyes.

Alex can feel himself drifting closer to Michael, putting the pistol down. The kiss at the prison had been a bad idea, but he feels like he’s being drawn into the man’s aura. That bitterness that he’s exuding is something Alex understands all too well, and his gaze slides to his lips as he speaks, that plush mouth perfect as it forms the words. He knows that Michael’s filled with an anger that burns within him, but it’s so beautiful, trapping Alex like a moth to a flame.

“They’re idiots if they can’t see what they’re missing out on,” he opines, but he’s speaking to Michael’s mouth rather than paying him the attention he deserves. When his gaze flicks up, he can see Michael staring back at him with a hopeful, soft look on his face.

Michael licks his lips and that’s all Alex needs as encouragement.

The kiss in the prison had been to make a point and admittedly, a touch to shock Michael, but he hadn’t pulled back or tried to smack him. When Alex had turned up on the dock, Michael had flushed, and even now, he’s fiddling nervously with his glasses, the map dropping beside them. He drifts a little closer, even as Michael breathes in deeply.

“Do you really think that I’m that incredible? You don’t know me,” Michael murmurs.

“I’d like to,” is all Alex admits, and tips his head to the side to kiss Michael.

Or, at least, he’d intended to.

At the very last moment, Michael jerks away in a clumsy panic, his elbow smacking into the candle and its holder, sending it crashing onto the table. The flame catches at the oldest, driest parchment on the table, which in this case happens to be the map to Hamunaptra that Michael had been studying.

It catches at the edges, slowly taking it up in licks of flames, even though Michael reaches for it in a panic. He throws his glass of water on it, which puts it out, but not before a third of the map becomes completely singed.

Including their destination. 

“Shit,” Michael says, gaping at the map. 

He’d managed to stop it from completely becoming ash, but it’s still missing large pieces of the way along with the compass. Alex would feel bad about it, but he knows how to get there. The destination is locked in his mind. 

Losing the map is more of a loss for Michael, who might see it as some sort of trinket.

Alex reaches out to rest his palm over Michael’s hand. “It’s okay,” he guarantees, tapping two fingers to his own temple. “I know the way. It’s up here.” He’s trying not to think about the fact that Michael had pulled away from him and the kiss, which means that what happened at the prison is likely not to happen again. 

Maybe Alex had read him all wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want the same things. 

“I think I’m going to retire to the cabin,” Michael says, looking defeated as he stares at the destroyed map. Alex wants to smooth away the wrinkles on his forehead and promise that it won’t matter, but the last thing Michael wants from him (probably) is to be touched.

Alex nods, feeling bereft and lost. 

His family is on this ship, but he wants nothing to do with them (and Alex is confident that goes both ways, because they never want anything to do with him, either). He makes his way to the railing, still smelling the smoke from the papers, and stares into the Nile. Michael doesn’t want anything to do with him either, but Alex had been hoping for _something_ there. 

Realizing that he’s got no one who wants Alex as he is brings that loneliness creeping back in.

He'd felt it every night in the prison as he waited to hang. When Max and Michael had visited, it had left Alex with _hope_ for the first time that maybe there was a future for him, maybe he could find a new place in the world and carve out a space for him in it.

Instead, he’s being rejected, _again_.

He leans his weight on his forearms, ducking his head down as he lets himself sulk for a moment, because soon enough they’ll need to be journeying again. He can be the sort of professional who accompanies Michael back to the City of the Dead, even if it’s the stupidest thing any mortal man could want.

The idea of him going alone is far worse, though. 

Alex turns to lean his back against the railing, staring at the stars, trying to shed the disappointment like a second skin. He’d really thought that Michael…

No, he’ll make himself mad with hypotheticals, he needs to stop that. 

Luckily, he’s distracted by a shriek from the other end of the ship. 

“Fire!” he hears Isobel’s voice screaming nearby, as she runs towards him, grasping at Alex’s shirt, a panic in her eyes, and then she pushes past him, sprinting for the interior of the ship. “I’m going to find Michael, hurry! We need to get off the ship!”

Alex wants to tell her that it’s fine, that they’ve dealt with it. When he turns to tell her, he catches sight of men in dark clothes boarding the ship near the aft of the ship, heading inside where he can see smoke beginning to billow out from under the doors of the rooms. 

Inside, where Michael had gone to the interior cabin, which means there are two threats to worry about. Whoever is on board the ship undoubtedly set the fire as a distraction, but it’ll only work for so long. Eventually, it’ll sink the ship. The soaked intruders all in black are _armed_ , though, bringing Alex to the second of the threats. 

If they think they’re going to shoot his librarian in the midst of all this chaos, they’ve got another thing coming. Alex grabs his weapons, slinging them onto his back before he heads towards the interior hallways, careful to see where they plan to go. He’s creeping along the interior of the ship and keeping a safe distance behind them when he hears gunshots begin to go off _outside_ the interior, which means the assault is coming from all sides. 

This demands a new strategy. They need to get off this ship, _fast_. 

Hurrying back out, he makes a detour and grabs Max by the elbow when he sees him. “Isobel went inside,” he says. “Get her! Get off the ship, I’ll get Michael,” he vows, ducking a few whizzing bullets that fly past his head.

From the grimace on Max’s face, he’s not happy at all about the firefight, but the way he moves tells Alex that he’s a soldier too. While Alex can’t be sure, he’ll put his guesses on somewhere in France, from the haunted look in his eye every time a bullet cracks in the air. 

“Go!” Alex shouts. 

“Get Michael,” Max warns. “I’ll get Isobel.”

They part ways as Alex heads for the inside of the cabin, knowing that between the two of them, they’ll find the others. The fire’s spreading rapidly, which seals off two of his entrances and forces him around the other end of the ship. Grabbing his gun from the holster, he starts loading bullets into the magazine. His back is pressed flat against the door, waiting for the assailants to come out. 

Patiently, he waits, then waits, and when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye, he raises the gun sharply, lifting it to eye level.

Right into Michael’s eyes.

“Hey, what the fuck?” Michael says and ducks out of the way, just in time for Alex to shoot the two men in black coming for him. He wings one in the shoulder, the other in the calf, all while Michael wraps his arms around Alex’s waist to tug him back and away from the two of them, to Alex’s protests, especially when they land with Alex’s back slamming into the wooden deck.

“What are you…?” He lets out a yelping sound when a bullet goes straight through the planks of the ship where Alex had been standing. He looks up, cocks his gun, and takes down the man standing on the next deck of the ship with a shot to center mass. 

Lying there on his back, Michael is splayed on top of him and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of loose pajama pants and an overly large linen shirt (which Alex suspects belongs to Max). Breathing heavily, Alex grabs Michael by the waist and rolls them over until Michael’s the one on his back, so Alex can dig his heel into the ground, grab Michael by the hand, and haul the both of them back up on their feet.

“What happened?” Alex demands over the roar of the fire, yanking Michael with him towards the edge of the ship.

At least, he would if Michael weren’t resisting his pull. “We can’t! My books are still in the cabin, I need them for the dig!” Alex levels him with a look that he hopes communicates his impatience and disbelief as best as he can manage, because is Michael actually fucking kidding him? “There were two men in the room, they stole the rest of the map from me, and the box it came in!”

“I told you, it’s in here!” Alex snaps, tapping his temple forcefully. “Michael, can you swim?”

“What?” Michael asks, yanking his gaze away from the inside of the ship. “I learned when I was little, what do you mean can I…”

He yelps audibly when Alex hauls him over his shoulder and carries him to the edge of the ship, tipping him over and making sure that he’s swimming after the large splash. 

“Mother _fucker_!” comes Michael’s angry voice.

He's fine. 

Michael’s also currently cursing out Alex and everyone he’s ever loved, but he’ll deal with that later. Michael already thinks he’s a rude asshole, it’s not like he’s winning any prizes, so why not let him continue to think Alex is irredeemable as far as his manners go. He grabs the few guns he’s got on the table, knowing that he’ll need new powder, but he needs to stay armed.

With his father and brothers going in the same direction as them, he needs to be ready. 

With weapons in hand, he moves towards the edge, taking care to be on the same side of the ship as he’d thrown Michael off of. Before Alex can jump over the edge of the ship, he locks eyes with one of the remaining men in black who’s got his eyes on him. Standing steady, he looks for a weapon, but sees none drawn, and Alex has two choices. He could try and take down this man who’s watching him with keen brown eyes from behind the shrouds protecting his face from the fire, or he could dive in and make sure that Michael is okay.

He knows it’s not even really a choice.

“Fuck,” he mutters, because it’s only been days and this is the kind of thing that got him into trouble before. 

Alex climbs to the railing, eyeing the man in black and giving him a salute as he turns and dives into the Nile, swimming frantically in a diagonal strike towards the shore, striding towards Michael’s bent body, heaving and kneeling in the shallows. Alex drags Michael the rest of the way out of the water, watching as he sputters and coughs up the river. Nearby, Max is helping Isobel along with a few of the pieces of luggage they’d managed to save (which looks like Isobel’s, fittingly enough), but the rest of their things are going down with the burning ship.

With his hands on Michael’s arms, he looks the other man over carefully, searching for any wounds, bruises, or bumps. “Are you okay?” he asks, frantic as he thinks about the possibility of Michael being hit with unintentional ricochet.

He's breathing heavily, each deep inhale bringing his slick shirt against his skin. The white of it has made it translucent and Alex can see every defining ridge of muscle through it, which sets his heart beating faster. Rapidly, Michael nods and slicks both hands through wet curls, pushing his glasses up his nose as water droplets fall down his cheek.

“I’m okay,” Michael promises, and for a second, it’s almost like he forgets about Max and Isobel. He startles, like it’s hit him, and glances past Alex. “Max? Iz?”

“We’re fine,” Max calls back, “We’re okay.” 

They’re both staring at them like they might be okay, but they clearly have opinions about what’s happening right now. Michael is still breathing hard, water droplets flying off his lip every few moments, and Alex is reminded of how he’d looked in the candlelight. 

“Thank you,” Michael murmurs, voice low. 

“You’re welcome,” is Alex’s equally low reply, glancing over his shoulder to where Flint is standing on the other bank victorious as they help the horses out of the water. It’s a mood killer, to be sure, and all thoughts of kissing Michael fly out the window as he focuses on his brother and the way he’s beaming. “What are you so happy about?”

“Guess who got all the horses, jackass!” Flint shouts at him.

Alex shakes his head, because fuck, did he really inherit the only brain cells in the family. “Good luck with them over on the wrong side of the river, asshole!” he snipes back at him, and presses a hand to the damp fabric at Michael’s back to guide him to the shallows where Isobel and Max are waiting for them. 

Max walks away, but Isobel lingers with an approving look in Alex’s direction. 

“What?” Alex demands, wishing he had a jacket to take off to slide around Michael’s shoulders, as if he’s the only one who’s bound to catch a chill in the night. 

“Nothing,” is Isobel’s innocent reply. “Help me with my bags?” 

She says it in a way that sounds like it’s meant to be a trade. If he helps her with her bags, then Isobel isn’t going to make the comment on the tip of her tongue. Alex might not be ashamed of what he is and who he happens to like, but that doesn’t mean he wants Michael to know about the fact that he cares a little too much.

Michael thinks he’s a rude asshole. 

Unless he figures out a way to change that opinion, Isobel’s only bound to make things worse. 

“Give them here,” he grumbles, taking his hand off Michael to focus on hauling Isobel’s things instead, willing to take her deal. 

For now.


	2. the dig

They run into a spot of luck by sunrise, when they come across a small settlement in the desert. 

While Alex might have felt smug and victorious the night before, Flint did have an advantage with the horses. If they don’t find their own method of transportation, the others will beat them to Hamunaptra, which is a thought that burns him up. 

Their luck hasn’t run out, though, because the local people are willing to part with their camels – for a price. Unfortunately, Max seems poised to try and haggle, clearly worried about their limited funds after losing a good handful of it in the fire on the ship.

“Max, just give the man the money,” Alex snaps, when it looks like Max isn’t ready to stop bartering about the price. 

He doesn’t want to be an asshole, but as much as he feels confident with the slight head start they have from being on the right side of the river, Flint still knows where he’s going. While Flint’s not about to win bravest of the year, he’s a Manes son. There’s a lot of levers their father can pull in order to make the boys do what they’re supposed to.

That lead they have is going to dry up quickly and the last thing he needs is to waste it bickering over camels. It looks like it’s killing Max to do so, but he digs into his pocket to pull out the still-damp bills, handing them over to the man in exchange for four leads, which means they can get on their way. He hands one to Isobel and the other to Max. 

“Where’s Michael?” Alex asks when he’s down to the two last ropes in hand, because they really do need to get moving. 

Isobel gives him a knowing smirk, pointing towards a few of the nearby tents. 

Alex steps forward to shout at Michael to come back, but the sound of happy childish screams drowns him out. Alex stops in his tracks, watching Michael chasing after a few of the children, hauling them up onto his shoulders. There’s two running around his ankles, while the one on his shoulders plays with Michael’s glasses and grabs at his curls.

When Michael tips his head up to smile at the kid doing the tugging, it’s the softest, sweetest smile Alex has ever seen in his life.

“He’s great with kids,” Isobel shares, nudging Alex with her elbow gently. “You should see him when they bring the kids in for reading hour. He does the voices,” she shares.

Heart in his chest, Alex knows that he has to disrupt this, but it’s the last thing he wants. With the clothes they’ve shared with him, Michael is clad in too-tight trousers and a loose linen shirt and vest. His hair has curled wildly from being in the river earlier, and is going frizzy from the kid pulling on it. 

“Michael,” Alex calls over, lifting up the rope for his camel. “We need to move,” he says, feeling like his voice sounds strangled and strange. It’s almost like he doesn’t recognize it. He can see the disappointment that floods Michael’s face to have to leave the children, but he wanders over to Alex’s side to pry the rope from him. 

Alex doesn’t let go so easily.

“They couldn’t find any pants that fit?” he hears himself ask, his gaze flickering down to stare at Michael in a way that he knows could have him arrested back on the streets of Cairo. Maybe a better man would have learned his lesson, but they’re in the middle of the desert and Michael has never shied away from the way Alex stares at him.

It's more than a little encouraging. 

“Isobel stole them from me,” Michael admits, gesturing to where Isobel sits atop her camel in loose and flowing trousers. 

Alex raises his brow, letting go of the rope, but staying to help Michael onto the camel, his hands sliding over Michael’s hips and squeezing tightly as he gives him that last little heft up. Standing at his side, he feels his heart painfully thumping in his chest as Michael leans down a little over the camel to speak to him, but in this position, Alex could rise onto his tiptoes and kiss him, he could kiss him if he just…

He steels himself and reminds his brain that he’s not here to kiss Michael Guerin, he’s here to guide him. There’s money in his satchel and Michael had made it plenty clear on the ship when he'd pulled away from the kiss that he isn’t interested in Alex like that.

“Isobel gets what she wants,” Michael says with a wry smile. “The sooner you figure that one out, the easier your life is going to be.”

Now that Alex is sure that Michael’s situated, he heads to his own camel, making sure that it’s ready to go. He needs to figure his shit out, because having a crush on one of the men he’s working for is a bad idea, especially after the incident on the boat.

It’s also probably a terrible idea, given the incident in the prison.

Alex is full of bad ideas lately, by the looks of it.

Luckily, their journey out into the desert is the perfect respite. He has to take the lead to make sure they’re going in the right direction, which lets the siblings ride behind him. Within a few moments, they’re devolving into the kind of ridiculous antics that Alex wishes he could’ve had with his siblings.

“Oh, come on, Max, sing with us!”

“It was your favorite when we were kids,” is Michael’s teasing protest.

“Do not sing it, don’t…”

“He did always want to be a cowboy,” is Isobel’s little retort, before Michael’s voice cuts into the desert. 

“Muffle your drums, play your pipes merrily, play the death march as you go along. And fire your guns right over my coffin,” Michael sings, with a reedy, but not terrible voice.

Alex joins in, quietly, under his breath, “There goes an unfortunate lad to his home.” He snorts, shaking his head. It’s a song he’d seen in a book on cowboy songs and frontier ballads, and he casts a look back on the siblings to find Isobel cackling, Max looking embarrassed, and Michael looking delighted. 

“I didn’t take Max for a cowboy,” Alex comments.

“I found the book when I was doing my training,” Michael explains. “We were younger and we had great aspirations to become cowboys. Instead, Max turned into a soldier and I became a librarian,” he says. “Some of us lived more adventurous lives than the other.” He sounds almost petulant about it, as though he missed out on something.

Alex catches Max’s dark look and understands it well. The war is no place to have wished to have been, and if Max had been a soldier, then he must have seen some of the horrors that Alex had during his service.

It's extremely good luck that they arrive where they need to soon, because otherwise, Alex might have done something ill-advised, like ask Max where he’d served and go down a path of horrific histories he’d rather avoid. 

“Here,” Alex calls. “We need to stop here.”

The others listen to him, even if he sees them exchanging wary looks. To anyone who doesn’t know the city, it would look strange. After all, they’re in the middle of the desert. He sees Isobel lean forward to catch Max’s eye, and he knows what’s coming.

“Don’t we…”

“We wait,” Alex says calmly. “We wait to be shown the way.” 

They’re perched atop their camels on the edge of a ridge in the desert, but Alex settles back with his palms folded over the saddle, watching as Isobel arrives at one side, then Michael and Max on the other. 

“I told you that I’d bring you to the City of the Dead, didn’t I?” Alex says smugly.

“You brought us to more sand in the desert,” Isobel says flatly. “At this rate, we’re definitely not paying you the full amount.”

“Wait,” Alex says again, because she needs to learn how to be patient for what’s coming next.

It won’t even be an hour before they’re able to move, but unfortunately his luck turns sour when he hears movement behind them, fifteen minutes later. It’s the sound of horse hooves and the arrogant cheering of a party celebrating their victory too early. Alex doesn’t need to look to know that it’s his family.

Well, it looks like Flint did remember the way.

“It’s almost time,” Flint says. 

It’s furiously annoying that he’s not even going to have a calm ride into the city, but Alex casts a look down the line of people waiting and decides to at least make it interesting. He smirks and gives Flint a casual shrug, leaning forward so that his gaze filters down the line, and he spends a moment staring down his father, and each of his brothers.

“What do you say we make this interesting?” he says, with a shrug.

That gets his party’s attention, and from the way Isobel’s eyes are lighting up, she’s clearly in. Of course, she probably thinks there’ll be a shiny prize out of this, but Alex wants only one thing – the absolute and utter joy of humiliating his brothers and father in defeat.

“Don’t let him taunt you, Flint,” Jesse warns icily.

“No,” Flint says sharply. “No, I’m listening.”

He never could back down from a bet, even if Flint lacked the bravery to stand up for himself. His greed and his self-preservation got in the way, which meant that Alex had a good feeling he could ask for anything. 

“First entry into the city,” Alex gambles, and catches the choked sound from Michael two paces down, along with his hissing to stop, but Alex extends a hand, knowing that between the camels and the horses, they’ll have the advantage – especially since the horses have recently gone through the trauma of the ship sinking. “Whoever gets there first, they get first dibs on exploring the city.”

Flint tips his head to the side to confer with the other Manes boys, but it isn’t long before he nods.

“You’re on,” he agrees.

They don’t shake on it, but then, Alex already knows the chance of Flint reneging on the deal is really high. It’s why he’s only counting on the moral victory of beating them instead of an actual prize (which Isobel will be disappointed about, though she already looks fairly deprived since there’s no money on the line).

Alex waits as he turns his attention back to the horizon. The sun shifts a little, then a little more, and then the path to the city illuminates itself.

“It’s real,” he hears Michael breathe out in awe and wonder. 

Alex turns to look at him, struck by the expression on his face. He’s slack with joy and wonder, his curls shining in the sun like a path illuminated for Alex’s hands to follow, but he doesn’t have time to focus on Michael. Not right now, because he hears the crack of whips and the urging as Flint spurs his horse to action.

“Let’s go!” Max shouts, and with a kick of his heel, spurs his camel into action.

“It’d mean a lot to you to humiliate your brothers, huh?” Michael asks, wrapping the reins around his hands.

Alex nods, dumbly, still caught off guard by how incredible Michael looks.

“Okay, then,” is all he says. He tucks his glasses safely away in the bag and leans forward to whisper, _Let’s go darling_ to the camel in Arabic before he’s off like a shot, bouncing and riding the camel with ease. Alex isn’t far behind, making up for lost ground with ease. Halfway to the city, it almost looks like Harlan or Hunter might eke it out, but they’re no match for Michael. 

He doesn’t use the whip once, only his encouraging words as he keeps low, his heel and hand doing all the guiding and prodding, and his camel rewards him for it, stretching out to pull him ahead. Alex is behind Flint by the time they arrive, but no one gets there before Michael does. 

Obviously, Flint will try and spin this as a loss, but Alex stares proudly at Michael as he brings himself to a light trot, spinning so that he can catch sight of Alex, grinning smugly. 

“I think that means I just won,” he announces, like he’s boasting. 

The sour looks on his father and brothers’ faces are _so_ worth it, and Alex is laughing as they head off to make camp as far away as possible from them. God, it feels good to finally be out from under their thumb and it’s even better to be able to see Michael so joyful and happy. Near him, Max and Isobel come to a canter and stop, having had more control issues with their rides. 

Michael dismounts his camel, face shining with sweat and his eyes gleaming with victory. He turns back to grin at Alex, the wind pushing through his curls, and Alex’s breath catches in his throat as he stares at him, the light of the sunset catching him and dappling him in soft light. He’s just happy he has the chase to give him an excuse as to why he’s breathing so hard. 

Leading his camel towards an area clear of the city, Alex nods towards it. “Come on,” he says. “We’ll set up camp here.”

He deliberately forces himself to look away from Michael, because he knows there’s no way he can keep looking at him without his father and brothers knowing that something is going on. The last thing he wants to do is put Michael Guerin in danger.

And yet, they’re in Hamunaptra. 

That icy feeling has returned to Alex and he has an awful feeling that he’s somehow managed to lead Michael and his family right into the very worst place they could possibly be.

* * *

He’s still in full and utter disbelief that they’re here.

The sun has set on Hamunaptra, which means that they won’t be able to do anything until they have the light of day, but Michael hasn’t been able to sleep in his excitement. He’s been pacing around the city, wanting to go in and start exploring, but he does have some sense. When combined with Alex’s warning that no one goes in alone, he’s willing to wait.

Only barely, but he’s willing. 

On top of that itch to go discover, he’s fighting something else. It’s something he can’t explain, but only happens around Alex. It’s this _feeling_ he can’t shake, but that he doesn’t totally understand. 

Instead of coming to terms with whatever that is, he decides to pester his siblings. Since Max is asleep, that leaves Isobel, who’s always the better choice. Max would only tamp his excitement down and remind him about all the warnings Alex had issued, but Isobel’s as excited as him, he’s fairly sure. She’s ready to discover what treasures might lie in the tombs beneath them. She also would be the only person in possession of a drink, if they’ve got anything left.

Michael is fairly sure that the salvaged bags being Isobel’s had been no feat of chance and more Isobel’s passionate insistence that Max make sure he grab them. It means that Michael doesn’t have any of the tools he needs to dig, no books, and none of his clothes, but Isobel has her tent and her supplies. That tent’s been set up just on the perimeter of their camp, near where the Manes family has settled in to sleep. 

The first thing he does when he ducks inside is to search the remaining bags they have for liquor. 

“What are you doing?” she hisses at him, brushing out her hair.

“I need a drink,” Michael tells her, frantic in his search because if anything is going to calm him down, it’s going to be alcohol.

It’s all becoming too much for him. He pushes his glasses back up his nose, tangling a hand in his curls and feeling like he might pull them out in frustration because he can’t quiet the chaos in his head, is barely managing the excitement, and on top of that, he doesn’t understand what he’s feeling. Alex Manes has been a disastrous influence in his mind one moment after the next. Add onto that the anticipation of the exploration tomorrow and Michael’s ready to burst.

“And where do you think we’ll get the alcohol from?”

Michael groans when he realizes that means that she doesn’t have anything stashed. Peeking past the tent, he catches sight of the Manes boys dozing at their camp, a smile growing on his face. “I have an idea,” he says. “Wait here,” he insists, and ducks back out of the tent even to Isobel’s protests.

He walks with purpose past their campsite. Max is dozing and snoring, curled up in a ball, but Alex is awake. While he might have his eyes on Michael, he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t get up, even when Michael crouches down by the other camp and starts digging through one of the satchels 

Men like this always tend to hit the bottle hard, which means that he’s bound to find something. It's the second bag where he finds a half full bottle of whiskey, which Michael happily liberates. Since no one’s woken up and they haven’t seemed to notice him, he also decides that he might just borrow one of their toolkits, because he lost his when the boat went down.

It’d be a shame, honestly, to be there and to not make sure he has all his necessary supplies.

He sneaks back to the camp, passing Alex again. This time, his eyes are closed, but there’s a smug little smile on his face. Michael takes it for approval as he ducks back into Isobel’s tent with his trophies, beaming as he lifts up the booze with one hand and the toolkit with the other.

“That misspent youth is paying off,” Isobel praises, nodding behind her, which means that she wants him to start braiding her hair for the next day. 

Michael settles on the pillow, ignoring Max snoring just outside the tent, and lets his attention delve into the fixed routine of taking care of Isobel’s braid as he pops open the bottle of whiskey, prying the cap off with his teeth once he’s got it loosened. For a while, Isobel’s content to let him braid in peace, sneaking drinks every few moments. It doesn’t entirely calm the chaos in his head, but at least stops him from thinking about doing something rash, like rushing into the city on his own at night or heading back out to the campfire to straddle Alex and kiss him. 

“He likes you, you know,” she says sweetly.

Michael almost _jumps_ , because it’s so quick after his thought that he wonders for a moment if Isobel can actually read his damn mind. “Who?” Michael’s being purposefully dim, but he thinks if he does that and focuses on the braid, then Isobel might let it go. 

“Who?” she echoes, mocking his tone. “Our wildly attractive guide, that’s who. He keeps staring at you.”

Michael’s fingers still in Isobel’s hair, thinking that she probably needs the full story.

“He kissed me.” 

“What?” Isobel’s shriek could wake the dead, and Michael reaches forward to clamp a hand over her mouth, because Alex is right outside and he might have already heard too much. When it seems like Isobel might bite his hand to make it move, he gets it out of harm’s way. “What do you mean, he kissed you?”

“When we were in the prison, he kissed me, to explain why he was locked away,” Michael says, hissing the words frantically. His eyes are panicked and wide, seeing as he still isn’t so sure how he feels about that. “Then, on the boat, we had a _moment_. I thought he might kiss me again, but I turned away.”

“Why?” she demands.

Why, indeed? Michael gapes at her, not sure why she’s even asking that. “I don’t know that I like men like that, Isobel,” he protests, and he feels like he’s sputtering and not entirely sure he’s being very convincing. After all, his heart beats faster when Alex is around, he can’t stop staring at him, and no one has ever made him feel that alive. “Men aren’t supposed to be with other men like that. It’s why he was arrested.”

“Since when does Michael Guerin ever listen to what he’s told to do?” Isobel replies with an arch of her brow.

Michael works on the braid in her hair to distract himself from having to talk about any of this, but he knows that he won’t get to escape the tent without at least addressing the great elephant in the room. He finishes tying off her hair and reaches for the whiskey to drink a hearty swallow, allowing it to give him the courage he needs.

“He’s a rogue with a cold side,” Michael says, even though he knows it all sounds like excuses to his ears. Alex has only been cold around his family, who imprisoned him. He has the right to that. “He…I…” Michael is sure that he doesn’t have any other excuses other than his fear, and that has nothing to do with Alex and everything to do with him.

What if it’s only a kiss he’s after? What if he wants to tumble Michael and leave him in the morning?

“I don’t know what he wants.”

“I know an excellent solution to that,” Isobel informs him smugly. “You could go _talk_ to him about it.” 

The frustrating part about that is that she’s right, but Michael doesn’t want to admit it. The prospect of failure is far too great, and on the heels of being rejected from the Bembridge society, that’s the last thing he wants or needs. Besides, after what happened on the boat, Michael doesn’t think that Alex could possibly think he returns his interest.

Unless he were to say something. 

“I think I messed up, I need to redo your braid,” he says instead.

“No, you need to go outside,” Isobel replies, with that awful meddling tone of voice that Michael despises. “I can do the rest,” she says, sliding her fingers over her braid, a private smile on her face as she takes her time, raising her brow when Michael remains sitting there, frozen. “Off you go,” she says with a flick of her fingers. “It’s my _private_ tent, remember? I’m a woman out here alone with brigands and hooligans. I can’t be seen with one of them inside with me.”

“I’m your brother,” he hisses at her, as if his anger has ever done anything in the face of Isobel’s determination. He groans when she doesn’t fold. “Fine!” he snaps. “I’m going,” he protests. “But I’m not telling him what I think.”

He’s absolutely not telling him what he feels. 

When Michael ducks out of Isobel’s tent, his cheeks are flushed from their conversation and the liquor. He still has the bottle and the toolkit held possessively tight to his chest (because she might be kicking him out, but he’s not going without his spoils), but what he’s not expecting is to see Alex standing a few feet outside of Isobel’s tent with a hopeful look on his face.

“I thought I’d take a page from your book,” he says, and lifts up a second bottle of liquor. “Want to share?” 

It must have been stolen from his family, which makes it all the sweeter a drink. 

“Of course,” Michael agrees, feeling wildly confident even though he’s not sure he has cause to be. Maybe he will do something ridiculous and stupid and actually tell Alex that he’s sorry for backing away from the kiss.

Maybe with enough liquor, he might even try to make up for it.

They head back to the campfire and Michael has to step over Max, who’s curled up around his jacket, still snoring. He stumbles a little, evidence of his first few drinks, and Alex shushes him when he laughs about it, ass hitting the sand as he sticks his half-empty bottle beside him, sprawling out in a way that inclines him towards Alex.

“Isobel doesn’t let him in her tent?” Alex asks, gesturing to Max.

“It wouldn’t be proper for men to share her space,” Michael echoes Isobel’s earlier words. “And god forbid that we’re anything but _proper_.”

“You’re her brothers.”

“And Isobel likes her space. We’re used to it,” Michael says dismissively. He shifts to get his glasses out of his pocket, putting them and his notebook carefully aside, resettling himself so that he’s leaning on a hand, sprawled out on his stomach and staring up at Alex in the firelight. “Besides, you’re sitting here talking to me about brothers? I think you have three of them only a few feet away.”

Alex snorts derisively and unscrews the whiskey, drinking a good fifth back in a single tip of the bottle. “It’s not even remotely the same,” he guarantees. “You like your siblings. Mine helped my father get me arrested.” 

They’re creeping close to the reason _why_ Alex had been arrested, which unnerves Michael because it means they might talk about why he’d ducked away from the kiss on the boat. Instead of thinking about that, he chooses to drink, knocking back more of the liquor until it burns in a warm and pleasant way. 

“Easy,” Alex laughs, and tries to pull the bottle away, but Michael is steadfast. “It’s your headache tomorrow.”

“Yes, it is,” Michael says defiantly, which means it’s his choice how bad of a headache he intends to have.

Alex settles in against the sand by the fire, sipping from his own bottle (though with nowhere near the fervor that Michael is drinking with). “Why do you want this so badly?” he asks. “Isobel wants the treasure for the money. Max will do anything for both his siblings, and you want to be here, so I understand him. Is this because you want to find a place with the other scholars? You think that if you discover something so incredible, they can’t ignore you?”

“They can’t,” is Michael’s steadfast, determined, and passionate insistence. “They won’t be able to, not if I’m successful here.”

He has to believe that. Michael has to believe that they’ll overlook his past and his temperament if he can deliver the Golden Book to them. Even if they do refuse him, the newspapers certainly won’t ignore him. If Michael finds it, he’ll finally mean something. 

He’ll _be_ someone. 

“I may be a librarian, but that’s not all I’m going to be. One day, I’ll be more. One day, I’ll be able to _leave_ that life behind me,” he insists, staggering to his feet because he feels like it’s critical for him to announce this to the immediate vicinity. “I’m going to be remembered as more than a poor, pathetic orphan that got taken in, I’m…”

He wobbles in place, and Alex lets out a fond laugh as he darts forward to grab him by the waist to steady him.

“You’re going to fall,” Alex warns softly. 

“Maybe,” is Michael’s eked out reply, blinking wide eyes at him, as if he’s somewhat stunned by how close Alex is and how he can see little flecks of starlight in the reflection of his eyes like this. His breath catches, and a bout of dizziness strikes him, which makes him think about sitting down. “Everything’s spinning,” he murmurs, which means he’s had a little too much to drink. 

“Okay,” is Alex’s reply. “Let’s get you back to the ground.” 

He stumbles down with Alex’s hands on his hips to steady him as he collapses, so close to Michael, so close that he could do anything. He slumps forward, his hand on Alex’s neck as he presses his forehead to Alex Manes’, wondering where in his plans he’s meant to have accounted for meeting someone like him. 

“Alex,” he murmurs, breathing out steadily, and turning his head to the side, _seeking_ as he leans towards him.

Alex leans back and Michael feels the sting of rejection. He’s still holding him by the shoulders, gently easing him to the ground, but it hurts. “You’re drunk,” Alex says quietly, as he wraps a blanket around him. 

“Maybe,” Michael replies, but when Alex tries to leave, Michael grabs at his wrist. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “It’s cold in the desert at night.” He swallows back his nerves, tries to fight that instinct that says that he’s been rejected and he should move on. “You should stay, especially now that you’ve given me the best blanket.” He lifts it up, because there’s more than enough room for both of them under it.

There’s a wildly conflicted look in Alex’s eyes, but the fire is starting to diminish and Michael knows he’s not wrong about the cold and the need to fight it off.

“Please,” Michael whispers, a last-ditch attempt in his drunken haze. It’s clear that he’s having an impact on Alex, but even now, he’s not sure that he’ll get anything from him. “Alex,” he tries once more, and curls the blanket around himself.

Alex sighs and leans in. “You know, if my brothers see this or even Max…”

“I don’t care,” Michael says, knowing that his bravery is coming from the liquor, but it makes him shiver excitedly to realize he doesn’t. Once Alex has secured himself under the blanket, Michael feels like he can finally settle. 

He's not ready to confront the fact that he thinks he really does want Alex, knowing that when he’s sober, that reality is going to be harder to process, but at least he knows that he wants it. He might not know how to deal with it, but he _wants_ it. 

“Sleep well, Michael,” Alex murmurs to him, his fingers tangled up in the blanket near Michael’s hip, just close enough that they brush against his trousers. 

Michael gives a thoughtful noise in reply, happy to let the alcohol spin him around and warm him up, safe and secure in Alex’s arms like this. “Night, Alex,” he replies softly, and moves until his cheek is firmly on Alex’s shoulder, unwilling to be moved.

He thinks that it’s a very good sign that when he wakes up in the morning, Alex hasn’t pushed him away. Michael smiles to himself and grabs at the blankets to fall back asleep, unwilling to face the new day just yet.

* * *

The next day’s dig goes extremely well.

The problem is that it goes well for the Manes family and not him. When Max, Michael, and Alex had been down in the tombs finding scarabs and spiders, Alex’s brothers had found ornate burial jars and the very book that Michael had been determined to come here and find. From the moment Hunter exclaims that they’ve got a book that’ll fetch them a hefty price on the black market, Michael’s face completely falls.

“Michael,” Alex calls after him as he’s storming away.

“No,” Michael snaps. “Just…give me a while, okay?” he demands, his voice bristling with hurt and anger. He needs to get as far away from the site as possible. 

He’s so _angry_ and it feels like the Bembridge scholars all over again. It doesn’t matter what he does. He’s not good enough, he’s not fast enough, and once again he’s paying the price of being shut out because of it. The future that Michael has been dreaming of is in peril of vanishing before his eyes.

He digs his hands into his hair and pulls, as if he can somehow allow those dark spiralling thoughts a release. The only good thing is that he’s left alone, which means Max and Isobel have kept Alex from coming after him. The last thing he wants right now is sympathy. Worse, what happens if he somehow chases away Alex with his anger, because he’s not used to it and whatever has been developing between them stops. 

Michael finds a rock and collapses onto it, staring down at the city and wondering how it is that he can come so far and leave with nothing. Then again, does it have to be nothing? Michael stills, the anger washing over him like a stone, as that thought begins to take root and then grows life.

The thought quickly becomes a plan.

The alcohol had been so easy to steal from them last night. 

There’s only one thing that Michael wants and he’ll return it to them, but what if he steals the Book from them? They won’t even notice by the time he’s done with it, and he can copy the most relevant information in it. Maybe he can even persuade Max to buy it from them, but before they go down the path of doing this the right way, Michael knows how he’s going to get the book.

He waits until nightfall, until the Manes men are satisfied with their treasures and are soaked in celebratory alcohol that puts them to a deep sleep. Only then does Michael creep into their camp. He ignores the ornate preservation jars and goes right for Hunter Manes, who’s sleeping with the book ( _his_ book) in his arms. Michael’s had a long and storied life and through some of the years, he’s picked pockets and stolen plenty of objects.

It should be easy to get one little book. He’ll read it, maybe copy down some of the passages inside, and then he’ll give it back. Even if he doesn’t possess it, he’ll have the information necessary to write papers and achieve the scholastic honor that he’s after. 

Michael only needs the book. 

“Michael,” he hears his name hissed, and he nearly trips and falls right on top of Hunter. Spinning around, Michael sees Alex glaring at him, but he shoves a finger over his lips to try and get Alex to shut up. “What are you doing?” he demands, and his voice might be quieter, but he sounds no less pissed off.

Michael’s figured out exactly how to do this, and he needs to time it properly. Every time Hunter snores too deeply, his arms loosen their hold on the book, which means that he only has to wait another few breaths and then he ducks in to gently, _so gently_ slide the book out of his hands. 

It's going well. In fact, it goes so well that he gets overexcited and trips backwards when his heel digs into a piece of stone in the sand, sending him flailing right back into Alex’s waiting arms. He’s caught, securely and snug, and the book is hugged close to Michael’s chest.

“Michael.” This time Alex’s voice is whisper-soft, a breath right by his ear. It sets Michael’s excitement ablaze, and he turns once he’s righted himself, staring down at the book. “We shouldn’t.”

“We’ll give it back,” he insists. “They’re your brothers. You’ve never borrowed a book from your brother before?” 

He's managed to make a point, and Michael takes advantage of Alex’s hesitation to charge back towards their side of the camp with the book securely in hand. His heart is pounding hard as he sits and stares at the book, reverently sliding his fingers over the inscriptions, tilting the book back and forth to try and understand the tome. 

Michael wants to keep it so badly, but if he only gets it for a moment, then he’ll make do with it for as long as he can. His tongue is sticking out of the side of his mouth as he works to get it open, the clasp giving as he presses Max’s stolen device into the opening latch on the front of the book. His eyes light up with joy as he turns to Alex.

“This is a very bad idea,” Alex says, but he sighs and sits down with Michael. “I thought you said this would be made of gold. I’m pretty sure that’s why Isobel was so excited by this whole venture.”

“If we had the Book of the Living, it would be the one she wanted,” Michael murmurs, distracted. He’s sliding his fingers over the old parchment, tipping his head to the side as he takes in what he’s seeing. “This is the Book of the Dead. It’s equally exciting and will be perfect to write about,” he raves. “It’s an incredible thing, and when I have to give it back to your brother, it’s going to end up on the black market,” he says sourly. 

“You do know that I’m going to make you give it back,” Alex replies with an arch of his brow. “They’ll know you took it. Learn what you can now.”

Michael sulks, but, “You’re no fun,” doesn’t seem to take any of the wind out of Alex’s sails. 

His fingers are trembling as he turns each page, the next more amazing than the last. He honestly can’t believe what he’s seeing, and he knows that Alex is saying something, but he’s gone deaf to it. The only thing in the world that matters right now is at his fingertips and he’s enthralled, utterly and completely. 

When he glances up, Alex has gone to stoke the fire, which suits Michael just fine. He’s got the book (until he’s forced to give it back), there’s absolutely nothing in the world that could ruin this. If only he could keep this, Michael knows that he could _make_ something of this and write the most incredible pieces on it.

Instead, he’ll make do with what he’s got. 

He taps his fingers over the ancient Egyptian, eyes wide as he stares at it. “Ahm kum Ra. Ahm kum Dei,” he murmurs, taking his time to work over the translations. The wind around them begins to pick up, carrying sand with it. Michael ignores it, continuing on, and with every additional hieroglyphic, there’s more confidence in his voice, until he’s finished with the passage, beaming with sheer joy. Alex has come back from tending the fire, staring at Michael like he’s not sure about what’s going on, but also not about to stop it.

The wind keeps picking up, blasting them with a blustery force, and when Michael finishes with the sentence, it looks like someone’s finally noticed that they don’t have the book anymore.

“Dad!” is an alarmed voice from the other camp.

Michael looks up sharply to see Hunter wildly patting himself down for the book and Jesse Manes staring at him with icy horror. “Alex!” comes the booming voice of Jesse Manes across the camp. “Stop him reading that book, _now_!”

Alex looks at Michael with a panicked look in his eye and it’s almost like instinct kicks in. He shoves his hand out to slam the book shut on Michael, more a reflex than a thought-provoked action (and something that has Alex clearly horrified). Michael gives him a hurt look, but the book is shut in time for Hunter to storm over and swipe it out of Michael’s hands. He’s aggressive too, shoving Michael back.

“Hey!” Alex snaps. “Get your hands off him,” he warns, stepping in front of Michael like he intends to defend him.

“Tell your _boyfriend_ not to steal our shit, little Alex,” Hunter snarls right back.

“He’s not my boyfriend, you asshole!”

Michael is trying to intervene, desperate to cut in and point out that the sands near the city are shifting and sinking, as if something is _moving_ , but he doesn’t get a chance. He doesn’t need one, because suddenly there’s an inhuman roar nearby that deafens the camp for a moment before all goes silent.

Breathing hard, Michael turns to see Max and Isobel stumbling over, woken from their sleep. The Manes group is near them as well, their attention fixed on the city where the sound had come from.

“Did that sound like it was…” Isobel begins warily.

“Underground?” Max finishes her thought for her. “As much as I wish it didn’t, yeah.”

Michael shakes his head, because he hears something else, too. “Buzzing,” he says out loud, squinting at the horizon. Something is buzzing and it looks like a cloud of something bearing in, but it’s night and there are no sandstorms out there. He reaches for Alex’s sleeve and tugs on it, yanking to try and get him to move. “Locusts!” he says desperately. “Inside! We need to get inside!”

“What, down there?” Hunter gives him an incredulous look. “Are you batshit crazy? That’s where that god awful sound was.”

“Do you wanna stay out here in that swarm?” Michael snaps back, grabbing at a cloth to cover his mouth and nose, grabbing Isobel’s hand as he pulls her and Max (by virtue of Isobel grabbing at him) for the entrance to the tombs. “Alex!” he shouts. “Come on!” When it seems like Alex would much rather stand his ground (and have a shoving match with his brothers), Michael takes decisive action. 

He looks to Max and Isobel, nodding frantically for them to move.

“Go!”

“Michael,” Isobel says sharply. “Come on!”

“Not without him,” Michael says, hating the panicked feeling he gets at even the thought of leaving Alex outside in this danger. “Go,” he reiterates, louder this time, as if volume will change their minds. “We’ll find you inside.” He doesn’t wait to see if they follow his orders, because he’s sprinting across the camp to grab at Alex, brushing the locusts off his neck and head as he runs. “Alex!” he says, and digs his heels into the sand to pull him away by the vest. “Please,” he begs.

The flare of pure hatred in Alex is clear from the glare in his eyes to the way his nostrils work with heavy inhalations, but when he turns to look at Michael, some of it seems to deflate. 

“We’ll deal with them later,” he promises. “Please.”

Alex stares at him, then glances to where the book is lying in the sand. He drags his feet when Michael pulls at him, and soon he’s going to try to knock him out (even if Michael doesn’t think he’ll be able to). “The book!”

“I don’t _care_!” Michael snaps, and it’s stunning in that moment of panic to realize that in choosing between Alex and the book, he’s choosing the man. “Come on, we need to take cover,” he insists, and grabs him into the tombs. Alex looks absolutely stunned, but he follows without a word, so maybe he’s managed a metaphorical smack to the head with those words. 

It should occur to Michael that heading into the depths where they’d heard that ungodly sound is a bad idea, but he’s got this thing with bugs and the last thing he wants is them flying in his mouth and nose and ears and…he shudders just thinking about it. 

Once they’re inside, Alex forces them to stop, bending to grab a thick piece of wood. He gives Michael an apologetic look.

“Wait, what are you…”

The ripping sound of Michael’s sleeves at the forearm stuns him into silence, so it seems that they’re taking it in turns today. He’s gaping as Alex does the same to the other, exposing his forearms as Alex wraps them around the top of the wood to create a torch, digging into his pockets for matches. It’s not soaked in anything, so it won’t burn for long, but it will give them some guidance.

“Max!” Michael shouts. “Isobel!”

There’s no answer but the echo of Michael’s own voice, a few small scraping movement sounds, then nothing. Alex keeps moving deeper into the tombs with Michael behind him. It feels like they’re stuck in a labyrinth, going around in circles for ages. Without the daylight reflecting on the mirrors, all they have is the light of the torch.

“Max!” he shouts again. “Isobel!”

Alex presses a hand to Michael’s chest to hold him back, and though Michael has no idea what he's listening for, he jerks his head in a nod towards a new turn. “I hear something this way,” he says, taking a turn that leads them towards their dig site from today.

“I don’t understand what could have caused that swarm,” Michael rambles as they walk. “Or that _sound_. I’ve never heard anything like it, I don’t understand what it could be.” Alex is pointedly not responding as they move, which Michael doesn’t know how to read. Is he upset with him? Has he gone into that fierce soldier mode that he sometimes sees with Max?

Michael watches him as Alex leads the way, his forearms chilled from their exposure and the cool desert air, but he knows one thing for certain – he feels safest right here, and nowhere else. 

“It doesn’t make any sense, it was just a book,” he protests. “It must be a coincidence, a completely mad coincidence…”

He trails off when they reach their dig site, their tools still here for their intended return, (Michael had found quite a few scarabs here, and he swears he’d left them in a pile, but they’re gone now) Relief floods him as he sees a shadow in the corner of the room, shrouded in the darkness. 

Of course, Max and Isobel would come straight here, because this is where they’d last been.

“I’m so glad to find you,” Michael breathes out, rushing over. “Alex, this way!”

He reaches out to press a hand to Max’s shoulder, but when he makes contact, it’s with cloth. Michael looks down to see dust crumbling in his fingers, and as Alex wanders closer with the torch, it throws the figure into sharp lighting. Something catches in his chest that feels an awful lot like gripping, terrifying _fear_ and Michael lets out a choked sound of wild panic.

He can’t even scream, he’s stuck in place, gaping at what looks like a mummy walking around, missing eyes and body, shuffling towards him.

“Alex!” he panics, frozen in place as the mummy tips its creaky head to the side, taking its time to look at Michael. The creature looms closer, drawn in by Michael. He doesn’t exactly know what undead mummies want, but clearly, he’s fixed on him. He says something in old Egyptian, and Michael’s eyes widen as he tries to glean its meaning. With the lack of vocal cords, he’s not entirely sure he’s hearing it right. 

Alex is cursing behind him and Michael glances down to see him fumbling with the gun on his belt. Frozen fearfully, the creature reaches out bony fingers towards his face, almost like he’s about to cradle his cheek, and then he says something that Michael _does_ understand, but only confuses him more.

There’s no time to think about that, because as soon as Alex frees his pistol, he unleashes two shots into the creature’s gaping maw, which sends him howling and to its knees. “Run!” Alex hisses at Michael, shoving him along. 

Finally, it’s like his knees unlock and move. He grabs Alex’s hand and lets him pull him along, even though Michael thinks that it’s in such a panic that they don’t know where they’re going.

The howling outside has died down and Michael can’t help but wonder if the locusts hadn’t been intended to drive them in _here_. “Alex,” he’s breathless, not used to running like this. “It said that I spoke the words, it said that I’m meant to be the vessel,” Michael says frantically as they move. Even though his Ancient Egyptian isn’t half bad, his panic is interfering with his ability to translate. He knows that he’s making his best guess, but he has a bad feeling he’s not wrong. “I think I summoned it from its grave.” 

Alex is still pulling them along, the torch leading the way as they hurry, but Michael’s foot catches on something and he slams down to the ground. Hissing, he looks down to see his knee scraped up, but when he looks back to see what he’d tripped on, he _screams_ for Alex, panicking as he rushes to get away from it.

No, not _it_.

He pushes away from the body, back pressed to the wall as he tries to calm the panic in his chest. It used to be a person, that much he can tell. The body looks like it’s been utterly drained of moisture and its eyes are missing, completely. The hairstyle is what betrays the person’s former identity, and Michael gapes in horror. 

What could do that?

It's a chilling realization that no living thing could, and their encounter with that creature only grows more terrifying as Michael imagines what would’ve happened if it managed to somehow do to Michael what it’s done to Alex’s father. 

“Alex,” he rambles, panicked, as he claws at his shirt, hauling himself back to his feet and practically pressing against him to get back. “Alex, it’s your…”

“I know,” Alex cuts him off. He wraps an arm around Michael’s waist, but leans down with the torch to inspect the body. 

Michael watches Alex warily, not sure what to expect, but he’d imagine that there ought to be some grief. There should be _something_ , but the way Alex stares at the body almost makes Michael think that he’s ready to spit on the corpse. He gets that his father might have been a monster, but there’s an actual, literal monster hunting them through the tunnels right now. 

“It did that, didn’t it?” Michael says, his earlier fear beginning to spawn in new ways and invade him. “If it gets me, is it going to do the same to me?”

He can’t stop thinking of the way the creature had reached for him, almost tenderly in a way that has Michael sick to his stomach. He’s sinking back against Alex, selfishly seeking him out to protect him. He hears shuffling movement nearby and his fears start to ramp up again, a full-body shiver wracking him as he stares at Jesse’s body and imagines that happening to him or his family, or to _Alex_.

Then, he hears a blissfully familiar voice. 

“Michael!”

“Isobel!” Michael shouts, when he hears her through the corridors of the tombs. They’re so close, and he sees the light of a lantern around the corner. Michael staggers away from the body, not knowing how the creature could have done that to a person, but he’ll be damned if he lets that happen to Isobel or Max.

He finally releases Alex’s hand from his own and goes sprinting towards the light, colliding into Isobel’s arms to embrace her tightly, before moving to do the same to Max, holding him with a fierce grip that he knows is close to clawing. He’s more scared than he’s ever been in his life and he doesn’t know what to do, but his instinct says that they can’t stay here. 

“We have to get out of here,” Michael says, glancing to Alex over his shoulder, his face contorted with sympathy. “Alex, I’m so sorry about your Dad.”

Alex holsters his pistol, an icy look on his face. “Really? I’m not,” he says evenly. “He got what was coming to him, but if we don’t move, that’ll be us. Let’s go.”

Michael watches him warily, not sure what to make of his lack of emotional response, but Alex is right. If they don’t move, they’ll be the corpses littering the ground. He lets Max give him a gentle nudge forward and grabs Isobel’s hand as they move. By the time they feel cool, fresh air on their skin, the locusts have gone, but there’s chaos at the camp. 

Two of Alex’s brothers are bickering and there’s a group of men in black robes swarming the city. Alex eyes them with wariness, but he doesn’t ask who they are, which makes Michael think that he already knows. 

“The camels,” Max says, pulling away. “Isobel, get everything you need, the rest is staying,” he warns. “Michael, come help me,” he says, but Michael doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t want to leave Alex’s side because he’s still worried about Jesse dying like that and Alex’s reaction. 

It’s useless to worry, though.

Michael can’t even get Alex’s attention because he’s occupied staring at the men invading the camp. They have weapons and they’re barking at one another, heading deep into the complex, though some of them remain above. Michael opens his mouth to demand who they are, but he doesn’t get a chance. 

“Alex!” 

Michael spins to see Hunter and Harlan charging after him, a wild and desperate look in their eyes. “Alex, please,” Harlan insists, their packs in their hands. “Don’t leave us here alone. We took the jars too, and you saw what happened to Dad, we think maybe it’s because of that, and we don’t want to end up like that…”

Michael wouldn’t wish a happy day on Alex’s father, but even so, seeing his desiccated and shriveled up corpse inside the tombs makes him shudder even now to think about. Michael also knows that they’re not wrong to be worried. His translations are the best that he can manage, but he suspects that before he can use Michael as a vessel for whatever purpose he has intended, he’s going to need to rebuild himself.

If Jesse is the first step, Michael doubts he’s the last.

Michael glances to Alex, knowing that things are complicated, but the last thing he wants on any of their consciences is more death. He reaches over to try and reach for Alex’s hand, but Alex moves suddenly, striding towards the men carrying a shrouded body out of the tombs.

“Your father, I think,” says the one in the lead, whose face is covered, all but his eyes. 

Alex stares back at him, steely and emotionless. “Their father,” he corrects, nodding to Harlan and Hunter. 

The other men rush to grab Jesse’s body, pulling the sheet away from his face. “Why didn’t you save him?” Harlan demands, shoving at the man who’d brought out Jesse’s body, sinking to his knees as grief floods his expression. “Where’s Flint?”

“Your father was already dead and we can’t find the other,” says the man leading the other black-clad figures. His mouth is covered, but Michael locks eyes with him, trying not to feel ashamed and guilty for his part in what happened tonight. “The creature took what it needed from him. It won’t stop, either,” he warns. “It will be coming for you,” he continues. “It will not stop until we find a way to hunt him down and end its life.” The disgust in the man’s eyes is plain to see, even without the rest of his features showing. He blames them for this, or maybe he only blames Michael. 

“You’re going to let us go?” Isobel asks warily. 

“Right now, you aren’t important.” His eyes flicker over the group of them. “Go, but know that you will not be safe until we find a way to destroy him.”

“I put two shots in the thing’s mouth!” Alex retorts. “You’re telling me it’s not dead?”

They get no response from their shadowy friends. They’ve turned away from them, as if ignoring them is more suitable than actually engaging with the interlopers. Michael’s exhaustion means that he’s on the edge of anger, but even he knows better than to start a fight. This morning, the worst thing he’d feared was more rejection because he couldn’t be enough.

Now there’s a creature, a _mummy_ , from ancient times roaming around and Michael can’t shake the words from his mind. He’s to be a vessel. For what, he doesn’t know. How, is also a great mystery. His thoughts run to obsession as the two groups coalesce into one, loading up camels and horses both with all their possessions until their presence in Hamunaptra could be nothing more than a story. 

It’s a rushed departure, without anything that they came for, and Michael hates the disappointment he feels. He knows they need to leave for their safety, but he’s riddled with frustration and a pervasive guilt that floods him.

This is all his fault. If he hadn’t read the book, if he’d only _thought_ before he acted…

It's too late to change it, now. Michael’s the last in their caravan as they depart the city, leaving behind hope and all his prospects to become a scholar as he’d wanted. Before they cross the horizon, he stops at the edge of the city to chance one last look back. When they rode into the city, it had been gleaming with promise and light. This time, the city is flanked by dark figures watching them leave, forming a perimeter around the city as if to keep them out if they decided to turn around and go back.

He turns away to leave them behind, hoping that with that last look, he’s put Hamunaptra behind him for good, though Michael can’t shake the feeling that it won’t be so easy.

* * *

Flint’s trapped.

He's got nowhere to go in the tombs, darkness surrounding him. Backing away from the howling sounds (wind, let it just be wind), he feels a solid mass behind him that stops his retreat. He looks back to find a wall and another dead end. With it being so dark, he’ll never find a way out. Digging shakily into his vest, he finds his matches, thinking that at least he can give himself a moment to see. 

The first one won’t light. 

He strikes a second and hisses when it burns his fingers with a spark.

Third time’s the charm, he tells himself, and lights it to hold it up in the darkness. It holds, but illuminates something haunted and shadowy in his view. It’s _something_ , not someone, and Flint lets out a helpless yelping sound as he presses his back to the wall, wishing that he could somehow shrink into a small mouse and scurry out. 

The match dies away, but the creature is still there, breathing raggedly. Flint lets out a helpless sound as the creature bears in, smelling of death and decay. His eyes are shut tight and he grabs at a trinket he’d kept from the last dig, something from the nearby quarters of the slaves who built the pyramids, begging for some kind of mercy, pleading, and knowing that this is likely the end. 

The creature stops and reaches out to touch it with bony fingers.

Hope sparks in Flint and he feels like falling to his knees to beg and plead. “I’ll help you,” he vows. “Whatever you need, I can help. I’m very resourceful, I could do anything you want.”

The creature forms a singular word with its repugnant mouth. “Vessel,” it croaks out. 

All Flint is trying to avoid is being killed. 

“Anything,” he guarantees. “I’ll get you as many vessels as you want. Keep me with you, alive, and I’ll get you anything you want in the world. It’s very different now. I’ll be your guide!” He’s breathing shakily, his fear practically consuming him. In this moment, Flint would give absolutely anything, do anything he could in order to make sure that he stays alive. He’d sell his own son (if he had one, though he’s almost sure he doesn’t). The creature lets its fingers slide away from Flint’s chain, but its breathing is still present.

“Vessel,” it repeats, in croaked English, following it with Ancient Egyptian. “ _You will find him for me._ ”

“I will,” Flint vows. “Yes. Yes, of course, Master, Sir, I will.”

He gets the feeling that if he doesn’t, Flint’s going to be volunteering to be that instead. Better to keep your frightening creatures of the dead as your ally and _not_ your enemy, which means that if it wants Flint to find him a dozen vessels, he’ll pick up twelve and one, just to be safe. 

That’s how you stay alive. That’s how you survive.


	3. the danger

The trip back to Cairo is difficult for everyone. 

Alex seems upset the whole time and Michael can’t blame him. The idea that they’re protecting his awful family from a mummy’s wrath – a revenge brought about by the fact that they stole his organs and have marked themselves for death -- is one thing. 

Michael’s guilt has been rampant about unleashing the evil spirit and he wants desperately to apologize to Alex for it, but he can’t get him alone. Isobel is upset that they’re not coming back with any treasure, and Max is frustrated because dealing with a petulant Isobel isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Harlan and Hunter’s fear is practically contagious and Michael feels jittery himself.

Maybe jittery is better than the anger he’s been keeping at bay, though the only person he’s furious with is himself. Alex bickers with Hunter and Harlan the whole way back, which only makes Michael more grateful for his siblings’ idle chatter (if petulant) so he doesn’t end up stewing in his anger and letting it consume him.

At night, when they camp, he curls into Isobel’s warmth and lets Max hold them both, the way he did when they were children. It’s a moment of peace in the midst of this chaos, and Michael is so grateful he has this. His eyes find Alex across the camp and he wants to invite him in, but when Alex makes eye contact over the flames of the fire, Alex instantly turns away so he doesn’t have to look at them.

Michael closes his eyes, stung by the rejection. “What are we going to do, Michael?” Isobel asks him. “Are we in danger?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, because they hadn’t been part of the dig that had unearthed the funerary jars that the brothers had taken, the ones that contained pieces of the mummy’s body. If he is trying to rebuild himself, that’s the first step. “I don’t think that you and Max are.”

“But what about you?” Max says, noticing that.

“He wants to make me a vessel and I don’t know what that means.”

Michael can’t sleep, because every time he closes his eyes, he remembers the chilling vision of the creature looming over him. He notices, too, that Alex won’t stick near him, but he also won’t stop staring at him. 

Obviously he blames him for his father’s death and his brother’s disappearance. How could he not?

That night, he falls asleep tangled up with Isobel and Max, in their comforting little pile, and when he wakes up, he sees that Alex is already awake and loading up his pistols. Maybe he never even slept at all.

Rubbing his eyes, Michael extricates himself cautiously and wanders over to Alex’s side. Everyone else is still asleep, which means this is the best chance he’s got to have a conversation with Alex. “I’m…”

“You say sorry, I’m going to test this right near your ears,” Alex cuts him off. “I’m not angry because my father is dead.”

Michael blinks at him, not sure what the fuck his mood means, then. 

“Then, _why_? Why won’t you even come near me?”

Alex doesn’t say a word, but he casts his gaze to the side. It’s the slightest of gestures that indicates Hunter and Harlan, and suddenly Michael feels the gut-punch of recollection. Alex may have been put in prison because of his father, but his brothers had likely been no help.

 _Oh_. That would be a completely obvious reason Alex is keeping his distance. Why hadn’t Michael thought of it before?

“So, you’re not mad at me?” he tries cautiously.

“I’m worried sick about you,” Alex confesses, as if the pre-dawn light is giving him the safety to be honest. “Michael, I think those men were right. I’ve seen them before in that city, back when I fought there. Whatever we unearthed and unleashed, I don’t think it’s going to stop until it gets what it wants, and it wants _you_.” He puts his guns down and reaches for Michael’s hands, bringing him a few steps closer.

Michael goes willingly, not wanting to break this moment by reminding Alex that they’re not alone.

“I won’t let it touch you,” he says fiercely. “I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting, you know,” Michael can’t help his pride swelling up to try and protest on his own behalf. It still makes his heart pound to hear that Alex wants to defend him like that, even though things between them are still _complicated_.

“Then maybe I need it,” Alex admits. “Maybe I need to protect you, so I don’t have to think about you lying in the desert like my father.”

Michael opens his mouth to promise that Alex can do all the protecting he likes when he hears the rustling of sleeping bags nearby. He withdraws his hands from Alex’s touch, cognizant of what they must look like. Clearing his throat, he nods towards the few possessions they’d been able to bring back with them.

“I should start breakfast, I…”

“I’ll make sure we’re packed up and ready,” Alex speaks at the same time.

“…right, and I’ll wake up the others.”

Michael manages to wait until he’s alone to smack his hand to his face, dragging it down and wondering why Alex manages to turn him into such an idiot. 

“Everything all right?” Max asks sleepily, rousing and sitting up.

“It’s fine,” Isobel replies for him, eyes still shut and curled up with Max. “Michael’s got a crush.”

“Isobel,” he hisses.

Max glances to the others, then back to Michael. He looks resigned and exhausted, but all he says is, “I hope it’s Alex. His brothers are kind of assholes.” Then he gets up to start packing up their things, rearranging the blankets around Isobel to keep her warm. Michael isn’t sure why he’d been so afraid that Max would be mad, but it’s a relief to hear that he isn’t. 

He's not about to tell Max that he’s right about the object of his affections, and instead starts to pack up their things. Nearby, he sees Alex kicking his brothers awake with his boot, clearly giving them no sympathy as he tells them mechanically that it’s time to go.

Michael catches his gaze across the way, giving him a nod, as if he needs to reassure him that he’s okay, even though they haven’t got anyone on their heels, as far as they can tell. The camp goes into work mode, with everyone quietly doing what they need to in order to pack up and make the final journey back home. 

Alex lingers at the back of the pack with Max in the lead, everyone else in the middle as they traverse the desert. 

Cairo looms in the distance, but it feels strange to be returning like this.

They have no book, Michael has no way of earning the prestige of becoming a scholar, and they’re being hunted by an unearthly creature they’ve released from the depths of the sands. Maybe if they can put a stop to this, that will give Michael something to write about. Honestly, at this point, he’s trying to do two things: survive, and figure out what it is he wants from Alex.

“Come on,” he says, once they’ve left the camels and their things at the livery. “We should go to the library and consult the books.” 

Maybe there’s a third priority – take down this creature that he awoke and prove to Alex that he isn’t as helpless as the man might think. Once he’s grabbed his bag of things, he’s off through the streets. 

“Hurry!” he shouts over his shoulder, even though everyone is following him without protest. He’s not used to being the one who’s listened to, but pride swells in him, making him feel amazing.

When he turns to walk backwards, he pauses to make sure Harlan and Hunter are with them, before turning with determination in every step as he leads them back to the library. Onward, Michael leads their rag-tag little group, thinking that compared to the disasters he’s caused before, this new one makes the rest pale in comparison.

“I know Dr. Valenti won’t be happy with me,” Michael says as he shifts his bag higher on his shoulder, rambling mostly for his own sake, “but he’s got to have more information about whatever this thing is. Even if those fighters aren’t able to stop it, we can find something. I’m sure of it. We don’t have to sit around and wait for them to do it, we can do it ourselves.”

“You saw that thing,” Hunter snaps from the back of their group. “You really think there’s a way to _stop_ it?”

Michael rolls his eyes, turning in place to stop his determined walk to deal with _that_. “I’m sorry,” is his derisive, annoyed retort. “I can let you stop right here and get taken by the creature. Would you rather do that than consult a few books?”

Chastened, Hunter shuts up. Before Michael returns to his leading, he catches the approving look on Alex’s face, feeling utterly lightened to see it. 

“Come on,” he says. “We’re making sure that we’re safe, all of us, whether everyone agrees with my idea or not.” 

He takes the steps of the library two at a time, pushing inside without looking to see who’s following. Max and Isobel will be with him, that’s all he needs. He _thinks_ that Alex will be too, but he doesn’t look back to check, too worried that he’ll have floated away in pursuit of his own solution. 

“I think maybe there’ll be some information there about how we can undo this…”

He bursts into the library, intending to keep rambling on, but is stopped when he sees Jim Valenti standing there with someone that Michael doesn’t recognize. The man is incredibly handsome, but he looks _furious_ standing there with his arms-crossed. He also bears a striking resemblance to Jim, which makes Michael wary about why this family visit looks so tense. When Michael glances back, he sees that he never had to worry about losing any of their party.

Each of the surviving three Manes boys are there, flanking Max and Isobel’s sides, standing maybe a little too close, as if they’re going to be able to protect them.

There’s a sound of recognition from Alex at the sight of the man. “You,” he says, and tries to push past Michael, even though Michael tries to hold him back. “You were on the ship, weren’t you? And you kicked us out of Hamunaptra.”

“I was trying to stop you idiots from doing something stupid, but it’s clear I didn’t try hard enough,” the man seethes. Michael squints at him, realizing that it _is_ the same man.

He’s not wearing the cloth to cover his face, but he’d know those eyes anywhere.

“Please, everyone, calm down,” Jim steps forward, hands out to try and diffuse the situation. “This is my son, Kyle Valenti. He’s part of our Order, a group of us sworn to defend the world from the evil that _you_ unleashed,” he says, his accusatory glare landing on Michael. 

Michael’s anger bristles and, like a volcano, he thinks he’s about to erupt. Alex looks no better, which is where Max comes in.

“Okay!” he says sharply, standing between everyone, arms out like he’s trying to stop a brawl from starting. “Okay, we’re all upset right now,” he says calmly. “Some of us have been marked for death,” he says, where Hunter and Harlan are lurking in the corner, “and some of us may have read some words we shouldn’t have.” Michael squawks his protest, shooting Max a furious glare. “And _some of us_ ,” he continues, glaring at Kyle, “lit a ship on fire instead of just talking to us.”

“It was an accident and…” Kyle’s shouting now too.

Clearly Max’s attempts at making peace have failed.

That’s where Isobel comes in. She grabs one of the books nearby, the heaviest in a series on Ra’s rule, and lets it drop to the floor. The resounding thud echoes in the library like a gunshot and stops everyone from the arguments they’ve been starting.

“Shut up!” she snaps. “We’ll measure dicks later,” she says, with a heated glare at each and every man in the room. “Tell us what we have to do so we’re all safe.”

“Those two, the Manes who stole the jars, need to make sure they stay hidden,” Kyle says sharply, still pissed off at being accused of burning down a ship. Michael’s not entirely sure that he should be getting away with that, but he knows he has other things to focus on when Kyle looks over at him. “The creature seems to have marked you as its vessel to bring back its lost love.”

Michael gives a derisive sound. “Uh…me?”

“The creature was a high priest named Amenhotep, who had an illicit love affair with another priest in his employ. The pharaoh, when he discovered the crime, sealed him up and had his love slain.” Michael goes still, looking at Alex beside him in time to see the way he freezes. 

Michael feels taut with tension. 

“Why me?”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “You can’t really be asking me that question.” 

_It’s because Michael had read the words._

He's still frozen in place, barely realizing that someone is pushing a book at him. He glances up to see that Jim’s found whatever it is he was scurrying about looking for. 

“Michael, here,” he says, passing him one that’s written in Ancient Egyptian. Between the two of them, they bend over the books, while the others stay near. “What I fear is that you’ve unleashed something more than just that creature,” he says, which sends Michael’s heart plummeting into his stomach.

He's a fuck-up _again_. No matter what he does, he keeps making a mess of things.

The trouble is, Jim’s not wrong. “Now that the creature is reborn, the curses shall be visited on the world until he has taken over the whole earth in his revenge.”

Michael glances up from what he’s reading. “Curses? Like…”

“Plagues,” Kyle says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course it would be plagues.”

“Hey,” Max snaps when Michael looks up, ready to tear a new one out of their ally. “Can you tone it down? We know what we did, we’re just trying to fix it.”

Kyle doesn’t look overly pleased about it, but he gives a somewhat subdued nod of his head, like he at least understands that he can’t just charge forward without a little subtlety. Michael sends Max a grateful nod, because if he hadn’t intervened, then he suspects he would’ve jumped over the table and wrestled Kyle to the ground.

Given the sharp end of the knife he’s got on his belt, that wouldn’t have gone well for him.

“So we need to stop the creature before it’s fully whole. It’ll be coming after these two,” he says, nodding to Hunter and Harlan. “While it is, we still have a shot.”

“A shot,” Jim says ruefully. “As his power grows, so will the plagues. He doesn’t need to be fully reborn for those.”

“The locusts,” Isobel says, wrinkling her nose. “Is it really going to get worse than that?”

Michael exchanges a look with Jim, thinking about what they might soon see. He closes the book in front of him, focusing on the issue at hand. “Kyle’s right,” he chokes out, even if he hates the words. “If we can protect Hunter and Harlan from the creature and give Kyle’s Order a chance to kill the thing, we might have a shot before…”

He can’t finish his thought, because the idea of becoming a mummy’s plaything fills him with bile and fear. 

“I’m glad we’re all finally seeing sense,” Kyle says with a long exhalation. “It will come for you, but I’ll go out, patrol with my men. Maybe we can find the creature before it finds you.”

“I’m coming with you,” Alex says. 

“No, you’re not.”

“If he is, then I am,” Michael says suddenly. “I’m the one who woke the creature, I should be the one to stop it!”

“None of you are coming! You’ve already done enough!” Kyle snaps. “I don’t need inexperienced men with me.” Alex opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word out, Kyle wheels a pointed look. “You heard him,” he warns. “If you come, then he does, and that plays right into the creature’s hand.”

Michael can feel Alex’s heated glare, but he doesn’t care. Kyle is right. He’s not about to let them go out there without him, especially when he’s the one that bears responsibility for this happening.

“The best thing that you can all do is protect the brothers,” Kyle insists. “Protect Michael.”

“We will,” Max says, even though Michael opens his mouth to protest that he’s not about to take orders from a stranger. He almost snaps at Max, but Max’s hand on his shoulder squeezes gently and forces Michael to look at him.

He's worried. 

Michael’s pretty sure he’s never seen him look _that_ worried before. It’s what makes him deflate, glancing to see a mirrored expression on Isobel’s face. He chances one last glance toward Alex. It’s his expression that seals it for him. If a man could look like he’s ready to fall on his knees and plead, Alex would be the perfect picture of it.

“Fine,” he hears himself say. “I’ll stay out of sight.”

It kills him to agree to this, but he knows that his safety is important to his siblings and to Alex. It's not forever, either. It’ll only be until they have a better plan to deal with the creature. Still, as everyone starts talking strategy and the best hiding spots, Michael can feel himself being left out of the conversation. 

Little by little, he begins to feel like they’re closing the door on him, until he’s been completely left out.

Safe, but alone.

Useless.

It's right back to where he started, with the Bembridge scholars telling him that he isn’t what they need, and wouldn’t it be better for everyone involved if Michael just stopped trying. With that frustrating thought in mind, he slams the book he’s been reading back on the counter, needing a moment to himself.

“Michael,” Isobel starts, her concern clear.

“Stop,” he snaps. He can’t take sympathy right now. “I’m going to go see what books we need while you decide where we’re hiding out.” He levels a warning glare on them. “Don’t follow me.”

He needs to be alone right now, because he hates feeling like a let down and a disappointment to his family, but it’s somehow worse that Alex is going along with them, reducing him to little more than a damsel in distress who needs protecting.

* * *

Alex has had nightmares better than this.

He's trapped in a room with two of his brothers, a man he’s only just met is giving orders to him, and Max, Isobel, and Michael have been nervously conferring for a while. Every time he tries to get Michael alone to talk to him, someone else turns up. There’s only so much space in this small apartment and everyone is starting to get a little stir-crazy and unhappy. 

Max and Isobel are bickering over what they’re going to do about Michael, and Michael’s anger has been building. If Alex steps a little more to the right, it’s no better, because Harlan is angrily trying to pack and escape, and Hunter is wearing the floor down with his circuits. 

“I can’t sit in this stupid room anymore,” Hunter complains, fidgeting. “I need to get out of here.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Max warns, leaning away from his argument with Michael.

“Not for long, I just need a smoke,” Hunter insists, tapping his foot on the ground rapidly. 

“Do it on the balcony,” Alex says irritably, shoving his pistols into his gun-belt. He needs to shoot something and if this keeps up the way it is, he’s going to end up putting a few bullets in his brothers. He won’t kill them, but if he takes out their kneecaps, then he won’t have to worry about anyone escaping.

Hunter bitches a little more, but grabs his matches and his cigarettes and heads to the balcony. That’s one down, and the other is lounging on the sofa, drinking morosely. With the both of them subdued, now he needs to deal with the fact that Michael has apparently forgotten all about his promise to stay put and is arguing the opposite with his siblings. 

“I’m not staying here for long,” Michael is adamantly protesting. “I’m smart, I’m good in a fight. I can help!”

“The creature,” Alex counters, feeling like he’s going to burst if Michael doesn’t stop being so stupid, “literally wants you as some vessel for his lost love. You’re staying here!”

“I’d like to see you make me!”

Michael glares at him fiercely, like a wet cat. Unfortunately for him, Alex is just as stubborn. He can hear Hunter and Harlan scoffing under their breaths, and Alex is fed up with being argued with. He’s tired of defending his shitty brothers. He’s furious that some creature has already taken his father (when he’d been Alex’s to deal with), and now it wants Michael and his brothers and Alex is expected to take this lying down.

He bends down and hauls Michael over his shoulder. 

“What the _fuck_ , get your hands off me,” he snaps, slamming his fists into Alex’s shoulders. “Max! Isobel! Would you _help_ me!?” he demands as Alex carries him off towards the master bedroom.

Glancing back, Max looks like he doesn’t want to get involved and Isobel looks almost like she _wants_ it to happen.

“He’s very tall, Michael,” Isobel calls out after him, in what sounds like encouragement. “I don’t know if I should.” Alex is relieved that at least Michael’s siblings understand the complete idiocy that Michael is spouting by insisting that he’s going. 

Alex ignores the way Michael is trying to push him off, dumping him on the bed. The way his curls bounce as he lands is far too appealing, and Alex forces himself to look away. 

“Stay,” he insists.

“You asshole,” Michael hisses at him. “You no-good, rotten, scoundrel of a rogue…”

It’s close to the first impression Michael had of him. “Good. Hate me, if you want,” Alex snaps, even though it stings him deeply to imagine that Michael does. “You can hate me until the cows come home, so long as you’re alive to do it.” He turns to lock the bedroom door, trying to ignore the way Michael keeps desperately pounding at the door, his tone taking a turn away from angry into something more pleading.

He has to shut it out, or else he knows he’s liable to give in. 

“Alex,” Michael’s voice is soft, pleading. 

“I can’t let you go, Michael,” Alex returns, pressing his hand to the door along with his forehead. He knows that Michael is on the other side, and it kills him completely to keep him in there like this, but it’s for his own good. “Please,” he begs. “Just until we figure out how to stop this from happening. It’s not forever.”

“It’s long enough,” Michael mutters, with an edge of something like bitterness in his words. “Fine,” he snaps. “Lock me away, but you’re not putting me on the sidelines.”

Alex doesn’t want to ask what he means. Truthfully, he’s scared to. Instead, he reinforces the locks and checks that nothing is getting in or out. Once he’s satisfied, he forces himself to turn away from it. When he spins, he sees Max and Isobel giving him a sympathetic look (because he knows they’d have done this too, to keep Michael safe), but when he searches the room, he finds Hunter smoking out the window, but, “Where the fuck is Harlan?”

“Some guy came to the door while you were fighting with Michael, said there was a message for him,” Hunter says.

“And he went down?” Alex retorts. 

What the fuck is wrong with his brothers? 

Before Alex can focus on that, he sees the way Isobel is staring at the bedroom door suspiciously. He pinches the bridge of his nose, afraid to ask. “What now?”

“It’s very quiet in that bedroom.”

It is. Maybe Michael’s finally resigned himself to staying put and staying safe. Then again, he also knows that Michael has a tendency to fly off the handle with anger, from the short time they’ve known one another. Complete silence?

It's a very bad sign.

Alex rarely feels like he loses his composure like this, but in the course of a few moments, he’s spitting mad. Harlan’s left the protection of the room and Michael’s either taken or he fled. He darts back to the door, his brother forgotten, and pounds on the oak. “Michael!” Alex demands. “Michael, this isn’t funny. Are you…?” He’s already fumbling with the locks, throwing both doors open to see the bedroom completely empty.

Empty, and the curtains by the window billowing.

Max darts past him into the room, lifting up a piece of paper that bears three words written on it.

 _I’m not useless_. 

Alex spits out a string of angry profanity, barely refraining from punching the nearest wall in his fury. How could Michael be this _stupid_? Alex knows that he’s a genius, that he’s much smarter than he lets on (or maybe just smarter than people are willing to acknowledge), but with this one act, Michael is clearly trying to show that his intellect can be turned off in an instant. 

“I’m going after him.”

Max is already grabbing his coat. “We are too,” he vows. “Isobel and I didn’t take a thing from those tombs,” he says, the moment Alex opens his mouth to protest. “We’ll go after your brother, you go after Michael,” he instructs. “We all meet back here and Hunter doesn’t leave!”

Hunter raises both hands from where he’s smoking at the sill. “I’m not an idiot,” he snaps back. “I’m staying put, don’t worry.”

Max looks like he’d been ready for a bigger fight, but grabs one of Alex’s pistols as he yanks open the door, letting Isobel charge out first, muttering under her breath about how if Michael isn’t dead when they find him, she might just change that. Alex is in just enough of a bad mood that he completely and totally agrees and thinks he might even help with that.

“Come on,” Alex says, storming out the door. “We need to find your idiot brother.”

Because right now, he’s absolutely not the man that Alex has a crush on, because _that_ man absolutely possesses a brain, and the one they’re chasing clearly does not.

* * *

When the door slams, the chaos goes with it.

“Good riddance,” Hunter mutters, heading inside from the balcony to light a new cigarette. He understands that his life might be in danger, but if he had to endure another moment of the Evans siblings bickering or the mooning way Alex kept looking after the librarian, he thinks he might’ve walked into the streets with his arms open to welcome the creature.

Left alone, he settles in with his jar, poking and playing with it, when he hears the knock.

“Back already?” he calls out, figuring it’s got to be Alex and Harlan, or maybe the others now that they’ve collected Michael. 

When he opens the door, he sees a supposed dead man. 

“Flint,” Hunter says, barrelling across the room to grab him into his arms for a tight hug. “You’re alive!”

“And so are you,” Flint says, his voice filled with regret. “I’m sorry.”

“What? What are you sorry for?”

He steps aside and a man swathed in bandages and cloths wanders in, a hat covering most of his face. Hunter grimaces when he smells it. He staggers back a few steps, the back of his knees hitting the couch as he forces himself to sit. His eyes track back to Flint, telling himself that nothing could happen to him while his brother is here. 

“Who is this?” he demands, not sure why Flint is bringing him visitors – especially dirty, unwashed ones like this. 

“He’s a very important man,” Flint explains. “He’s a prince, who’s come for something that you took.”

Hunter gives Flint a stunned look. “You can’t tell me you’re this stupid,” he accuses in barely more than a hiss. 

The so-called prince says something in ancient Egyptian, a language that only Flint ever learned when he’d been trying to prove to their father that he could also be worth something. The rest of them had all fought their own battles, but this had been Flint’s, and look where it’s led him. 

Flint ignores the accusation, and Hunter has a sinking sensation about what’s happening.

“You’re here for me.”

Hunter’s not going without a fight. He clocks Flint’s position, then the creature’s, and looks to where his gun is lying. His eyes slide down to the cigarette in his mouth, knowing that if he can just get something ignited, then he can blow this place sky-high. He’s probably not going to survive it, but then that _thing_ won’t get what he’s after.

“What the hell would Dad say?”

Flint gives him a dubious look. “The man who pitted us against one another, that we were never good enough for? That man? He’s dead,” he says with a sickly delighted smile. 

“What about me? What’d I ever do to you?”

“That you’re asking that means you don’t remember the torment, the bullying. The minute Alex left to fight, you and Harlan both took it out on me. I’m just looking out for myself, Hunter,” he says. “And the prince has promised me riches to do it.” 

Hunter’s whole body is tense. 

The room is silent.

And then, the flurry of activity. Hunter lunges for his gun, but Flint digs a knife out of his belt at the same time, stabbing it through his hand to pin him to the table. Yowling loudly, he stares at his brother, still reaching for the pistol, but instead of aiming for the creature, his base need for revenge makes him shoot shakily, grazing Flint’s shoulder. 

“Ow! Fucker!”

“You’re an asshole, Flint!” Hunter snaps, as the creature bears in on him. If this is going to be the end, he wants to go out telling the truth. “You always were weak and cowardly. When it was Dad, you fell in line with everything he wanted, and now that he’s gone, you just looked for the next biggest, baddest thing around.”

Flint’s grabbing at his bleeding arm, sneering at him. “Take him,” he commands the creature, echoing it with something in Ancient Egyptian.

“Fuck you, Flint, you…” Hunter’s breathing goes erratic, his panic setting in, and then there’s nothing past the blood-curdling scream he gives as the creature bears in on him in a cloud of sand, dust, and violence.

* * *

“Idiot librarian,” Alex mutters, storming through the streets of Cairo, following the trail of a curly-haired man that the locals point him towards. He’s furious with Michael, but the worry is quickly on its heels. 

Max and Isobel had gone off in search of Harlan, following the directions of someone outside their lodgings who thought that they’d seen him. That leaves Alex to track down Michael, and lucky for him, he’s easy to find in a crowd.

“Michael!” Alex shouts, as loud as he can, shoving at people to get them to move aside. Michael’s stopped at the mouth of an alley, which almost looks like he’s doubled back from where Alex had started looking for him. He can’t be more than a few blocks away from the lodging, and not in the library where Alex had expected him to be.

The worry kicks up, making Alex more paranoid than ever that something’s happened.

“Michael, what the hell are you thinking, it’s not safe for you to be…”

He stumbles free of the crowd, staring at the husk of a person left on the ground in front of them. Michael’s standing there at the mouth of the alley, staring at the body on the ground. 

Harlan’s dead.

“Alex,” Michael says quietly. “I’m sorry. I only wanted to get back to the library and find a book to help, I didn’t think…”

He raises a hand to stop Michael from speaking. He needs a moment to process this, not sure what he feels. Considering he thought he truly hated his family, it’s strange to lose three of them all at once, because he’s fairly sure that he’s supposed to feel awful about this, but there’s a numbness and a resignation instead. 

Two brothers gone, and his father with them, with only Hunter left.

“Why wouldn’t you just ask one of us to go with you to the library?” Alex asks, calmer this time. He drags Michael away from the body. If the creature has been here recently, then who knows if it’s still around, waiting for them.

Maybe Harlan’s bait, they need to think about that. 

Nearby, Alex hears a shout of disgust that draws his attention to the fountain at the tavern, which has suddenly started to run red with blood, and the distraction is enough that Michael doesn’t get a chance to answer, because he sees a flash of blonde hair surging through the crowd towards them. 

“Michael!” Isobel shouts. “Michael, there you are, we’ve been looking all over!” She’s a one-woman mission, shoving the crowd aside to get to him, Max in her wake. She slams on her heels when she nearly runs into Alex, who’s inching closer to the fountain. “Alex, tell me that’s not…”

“Definitely blood,” he confirms, as he runs his fingers lightly over the surface of the liquid. “Definitely a plague.”

“Not the only one,” comes a familiar voice.

Alex turns to see Kyle approaching, grabbing for them. He pulls at Max’s shirt to haul him back, even if Max yanks at his arm to try and dislodge him, making a face like he’s disgruntled at someone trying to help him.

“What are you doing here?” Max demands.

“I went to the room to look for you, and funny how none of you were there,” he snaps. “Hunter was. Knife through his hand, completely desiccated. The creature got to him,” he says, eyes scanning the alley to see Harlan’s body there. He breathes out shakily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He has absolutely everything he needs, now, to rebuild himself,” he says darkly. 

It means he’s going to come for Michael next.

“We need to get out of the open,” Alex says sharply, to which Kyle vehemently nods his agreement. 

They’re only a few blocks from the room and if they can keep their heads down, they’ll make it back. Kyle grabs at Michael to keep him in between him and Alex, which is the wrong idea, because Michael sharply protests and yanks himself away, sneering at Kyle as he steps back to stay in with Max and Isobel.

“I thought you were tracking the creature,” Alex says. “How could it be evading you like this?”

“We had eyes on it, but it has help,” Kyle says bitterly. “Your brother Flint isn’t as dead as we thought. There was blood on the wall, so it looks like Hunter defended himself. We saw Flint escaping with the creature, but only Flint was wounded.”

Alex’s jaw clicks as he sets it in place, understanding now why Hunter had been found the way he was, and why he’d let someone in. It shouldn’t be a surprise, seeing as Flint would do anything to make sure that he aligned himself with the right person to try and come out the other end alive. 

“He’s helping it,” Alex says, with absolute certainty.

“What?” Max echoes. “Why?” 

Obviously, Max has no idea about the intricacies of how Alex’s family operates, and he’s lucky that he doesn’t. Alex still remembers the fight out in Hamunaptra when, faced with death, Flint had decided he would rather take the sure exit that meant he lived to see another day. He’s absolutely not shocked that he’d do that again, aligning himself with something evil.

There’s a sick and awful part of him that asks, though, if he wouldn’t do the same to get revenge on his father and his brothers.

Alex intends to ignore that little voice at the moment, because it’s not like it’s going to do them any good. “Everyone’s got family issues. Ours are just a little extra special,” is all he says flatly. “I’d like to think Flint doesn’t harbor any resentment to me, but I got out, so I’m sure he does.”

Michael shoots him a disbelieving look. “You got out because they had you arrested and disowned you!”

“Don’t look for logic in this,” Alex mutters, reaching out to wrap his hand around Michael’s arm, intent on keeping him close because he’s the last thing standing between the creature and bringing hell to Earth. “Come on, we just need to get you to safety.” 

Alex is panicking. He’s trying not to let it show, but he’s panicking wildly at the thought that the creature has an ally who knows Alex’s plans and movements, but also the city. This has gone from bad to so much worse, and he hasn’t even had time to process the loss of his brothers.

He can’t lose Michael on top of that. 

“Where should we go?” Isobel asks, striding faster until she’s on the other side of Michael.

She has to muscle out Valenti to do it, but she shoots him a fierce look, like he shouldn’t question her resolve to defend him. It’s enough to make Valenti step aside, hip to hip with Max as they lead. They’re going somewhere, but it’s a matter of where.

“Back to the library,” says Kyle.

“To the apartment,” says Max at the exact same time.

Alex lets out a frustrated breath of air, knowing they’re about to get into another argument. Max turns to square off with Valenti, and both of them look poised to start bickering, which isn’t going to help _anyone_. “Hey, guys…”

“The library has the texts we need, along with my father to support us if there’s an assault.”

“The apartment has Alex’s weapon cache and we can defend ourselves by funneling them into one entrance.”

“Guys!” Michael snaps, since Alex’s attempt didn’t exactly work. 

They don’t pay attention. Alex can feel the simmering of frustration building in him. He’d spent his childhood with older brothers who wouldn’t listen to him and it feels like he’s cycling right back through that again, only with new men.

“Hey!” he snaps, holding onto Michael, but it’s neither of them who manage to get their attention.

Isobel’s the one who manages, though in fairness, Alex is fairly sure that anyone who pointed out their situation would’ve been listened to. 

“Hey, do you hear that?” Isobel asks them when they duck around the corner and a hum of noise from somewhere nearby hits them.

He's not sure what it is at first, but the more Alex hears it, the more it becomes clear what it is – it’s the dull humming of voices approaching. It’s people, but somehow not, as though the strange sound is what people would sound like if they had all humanity stripped of them. 

When they round the next corner, the apartment in sight, they discover exactly what that noise is.

“That is a very big crowd,” Max says evenly, staring at the group standing between them and the apartment.

“No shit, Maxwell,” Michael retorts, and grabs for Alex, just as Alex is tightening his hold on him. It looks like their arguments about where they’re going to go have fallen on deaf ears, because they have no choice but to run for the library. The apartment’s been blocked by the mob, and if they don’t move soon, they’ll lose that avenue of escape as well. 

Kyle whistles at them from the mouth of an alley. “This way!”

“Go,” Alex encourages Michael. “I’ll be right behind you.” He’s drawn out his pistol in order to have it turned towards the crowd, ready and anticipating danger. These people are slow-moving and clearly under someone’s thrall, but Alex can’t shake the feeling that they’re not here to attack them.

It seems more like they’re trying to funnel them somewhere. 

Michael starts running after his siblings, with Alex taking up the rear. The crowd doesn’t run after them, which only heightens Alex’s belief that this is on purpose. “Kyle,” he calls out. “This isn’t right.”

“I know,” Kyle responds from the front of the column, looking over his shoulder. “You got another suggestion?”

He doesn’t. Shooting through the crowd is really tempting, but they’re still people despite their trance, and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone who’s been caught in this mess. He turns, his back to the others, and keeps his eye on them, but they never attack. This is wrong. This is so absolutely wrong, but he doesn’t have a better plan.

What the hell are they about to walk into?

“I knew you’d come back to us,” calls a voice risen from the dead.

Alex turns when he slams his back into someone (Max, from the looks of it), and finds that they’ve been herded into a town square where Flint is standing beside a man that Alex doesn’t recognize. 

“Who is that?” Michael demands, which means that he doesn’t know either. 

“He’s gorgeous,” Isobel admits, then sucks in a breath, almost like she can’t believe she’s admitted that. 

He is, which Alex is trying not to acknowledge. He has an otherworldly handsome quality about his dignified face, and he wears clothes that look more in place on a hieroglyphic wall than an actual person. Given the way he stands and the power he exudes (not to mention the dead, desiccated bodies that they’ve just run from), Alex has a bad feeling he knows who it is.

So does Kyle. “You know who it is,” he says darkly to their group before he takes a few steps, drawing out his sword to defend them. “You can’t have him,” he warns.

“I think he can,” Flint counters. “Or are you not noticing that you don’t have the upper hand in this situation?”

The crowd lurches forward as if on command, to threaten them, but comes to a stop when the creature raises his hand, both showing that he’s in control of them, but also that he’s about to make an offer. Kyle grips his sword tighter, like he’s going to do something stupid and try and fight them all, but before he can, the creature steps forward.

He extends a hand towards Michael, speaking ancient Egyptian. Alex growls when he can’t understand, because Flint had been the one to seek out these lessons to impress their Dad, and because it didn’t involve putting your life on the line in any way, no bravery needed, he’d gotten very good at it. 

“He says, take his hand,” Flint translates, “and he’ll spare the others.”

Michael stares at Alex, at Isobel and Max. Alex feels the impending dread, shaking his head, trying to will Michael to _not_ do what Alex knows he’s liable to. 

“Go with him, prince, and you will be together forever.”

Michael rolls his eyes, clearly not taking into account the danger he’s in. “For eternity, you cowardly shit,” he snaps. He turns to his siblings with an apologetic look in his eyes. Alex can feel his heart rate accelerating, knowing what stupid, rash, impatient, idiotic thing Michael is about to do, and it’s all he can do not to fall to his knees and beg.

Flint bristles at the insult, but he seems plenty happy to twist the knife in the wound. 

“Go with him,” he says again, like he knows that Michael is going to take him up on it.

Michael takes that last step, the dull-eyed followers beginning to fill up the space between them. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, standing there. “I need you safe,” he pleads as the creature runs his hand up and down Michael’s arm, eliciting a sick look on Michael’s face. “It’s better this way, right? Iz, Max…” 

“Michael,” Isobel protests.

“You know you two have more ahead of you. Just, make sure Alex is okay, please?”

Alex is numbly standing there, aware they’re talking about him, but not sure he can actually move. Michael’s sacrificing himself and he doesn’t know how to let this happen. If he fires, though, there’s a chance that Michael dies right here. There are no good decisions, and he catches Michael’s gaze.

“Michael,” Alex pleads.

“Watch over my siblings?” he requests, voice small. “And I’m sorry that we never…”

“Stop it,” he snaps, because he can’t accept that this is it for them. “Michael, don’t do this.”

“I have to,” he says. “I can’t let anything happen to you, to any of you,” he says, and takes another deliberate step with Flint and the creature. He stands there, wincing as the creature slides his fingers over him. Michael locks eyes with Alex, mouthing one last ‘I’m sorry’ to him, and then allows the creature to pull him in protectively close, pulling him away from Alex, Kyle, and his family.

It's a noble sacrifice, but Alex thinks Michael is being _ridiculously_ stupid to do it. 

The creature stops before they can truly leave, pauses, and says something over his shoulder. Michael lets out a pained howl, and starts to try and fight his way back, but it’s a futile quest. He’s surging against a sea of followers who bear him back to the creature.

Alex has a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Kill them,” Flint translates, scoffing, almost like _he’s_ even surprised.

“No!” Michael howls, stunned by the betrayal. He’s yanked away as the horde begins to move towards them, growing smaller as he’s pulled away into the distance. “Don’t touch them, you said you wouldn’t touch them!”

His protests are drowned out as Flint gags him with a cloth and knocks him out, crumpling into the creature’s arms. Alex lets out a yell of rage, grabbing his gun so he can try and fire it in their direction, but where they once stood becomes a whirling sandstorm that vanishes from before their eyes. He nearly plunges into the crowd, but Kyle grabs one of his arms and Max has the other, yanking him back before he can chase after Michael.

“He’s gonna kill him!” Alex says, in a panic.

“Yeah, but if they kill us first, we’re not gonna do much rescuing, are we?” Kyle snaps at him, which does the job of reminding Alex about the very dense crowd of mindless zombies that are lumbering towards them.

He's right.

They need an escape route and they need it fast. Isobel tugs at Max’s shirt, pulling him back, and Alex stumbles when his heel catches against what he thinks is going to be their solution. Alex stares at the lip of a sewer grate, which isn’t going to be a pleasant solution, but it’ll keep them alive.

“Stop running!” he shouts at them, bending to haul the cover up. “Here,” Alex says, gesturing rapidly for them to follow. “Down here, into the sewers!”

Kyle’s grabbing at the cover, nodding like he can see it for the good idea it is. Max is already on board, given that he’s the first one down, but when he offers his hand up to Isobel, she flinches. “Do we really have to…?” Her doubts evaporate when one of the hoard swipes at her, nearly getting her by her gold chain. She yelps and hurries down into the sewer with Max. 

Alex stares at Kyle before he plunges down into the darkness, not sure how to ask for the help he needs in rescuing Michael.

“We’ll get him back,” Kyle insists, like he already knows what Alex is about to say. “Go,” he insists. “I’ll follow.” 

Alex spares one last look at the remnants of sand where Michael had stood, knowing that he won’t rest until he gets him back. Michael may not belong to Alex, but he certainly isn’t some vessel for an old soul. 

He’s Michael Guerin and he belongs to himself.

If Alex gets _any_ part of that, he’ll be grateful, but he can’t even make an offer until he’s safe and sound. And, after all, if they don’t save Michael, the world does have the potential to completely end. 

Talk about incentive.


	4. the rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, endless thanks go to my beta, Crystal, who took a huge piece and made sure that it all made sense, for Jess for encouraging me along the way, and Meagn for making sure this thing came to a close.

Alex is going to shoot someone soon, if they’re not careful.

The sewers had been the right escape, allowing them access to the other side of town. Isobel had refused to speak to any of them until she cleaned herself up, finding them an abandoned hotel that she nudged them into, picking the lock on a set of rooms (and not answering when Alex asked her where she learned how to do that). Moments later, they resembled people again, and had made their camp in the hotel’s tavern, which bore a ghostly ambiance with all its patrons and servers gone. Jim had met them there with a stack of books, but little hope.

They were probably back in that mob they had just escaped.

Alex had been willing to allow them a brief pause to make themselves human again, ready themselves for the rescue, but now they’re wasting too much time just sitting here, and he feels wound so tightly that he might snap and scream.

They’ve been sitting in the tavern _discussing_ the plagues being visited upon Cairo and Michael is _gone_. They’re talking plans, and who knows what’s happening out there. His patience is quickly bleeding out, and when Kyle starts to talk about the history of the lost city, that’s when Alex has had enough.

“We need to be moving!” he demands, smacking his palm down on the table. 

“We need a faster way out there than the camels or we’re going to show up and Michael’s going to be gone, possessed by that thing’s old lover,” Isobel counters. “Do you have a plane packed in that handsome ass that we don’t know about?”

He doesn’t, but Alex’s eyes widen when he realizes that he knows someone who does. Alex is on his feet to tell them that he knows where to go when he hears the scream nearby. 

He swivels his head quickly and looks to the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, seeing the frogs oozing out, beginning to flood the tavern. Glancing to Jim and then Max, he’s not sure which of them looks more worried.  
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kyle mutters under his breath.

“The plagues,” Jim says calmly. “Tell us the plan, Mr. Manes.”

“I know someone who used to fly,” Alex says, collecting his things from the table in a frantic rush to get them moving. “She’s always looking for an adventure, because they won’t let her do anything other than ferry men back and forth. She can get us there, fast.” He doesn’t know if it will be fast enough to rescue Michael, but he’s not sure that he can even consider the idea that they won’t get there in time. “We just need to convince her.”

Still, it’s better than a few moments ago when Alex didn’t have a plan. 

“I’ll stay behind,” Jim promises. “I don’t know what I can do to contain the plagues, but I’ll do my best. Find Mr. Guerin, put a stop to this. Don’t let that creature resurrect his love, or life as we know it ends.” 

Alex wonders if Jim Valenti puts that much pressure on Michael on a daily basis. If he does, no wonder he’s under the belief that he needs to prove something. Lucky for Alex, it doesn’t matter how high pressure the situation is -- he’s personally invested.

“Come on,” Alex says, grateful that they’re finally going to _do_ something about this mess instead of sitting around bickering.

“Who’s your pilot that can get us out there?” Max asks. “And why didn’t we use her before?”

“Because I only have one favor to cash in with her,” Alex replies, “and before, you were paying me by the day to get out to the city, so I wasn’t exactly in a rush, was I?”

“You’re in plenty of a rush now,” Isobel comments evenly.

That doesn’t deserve an answer, because it’s insulting to imply that he doesn’t care about Michael. He knows that he shouldn’t be so outwardly caring about him, because it’s what got him arrested in the first place, but his father and most of his brothers are dead. The last remaining one is trying to take Michael from him.

Let them try and lock him up again. Alex has a lot more bullets and far less patience this time.

He leads them outside of Cairo until they reach a dusty oasis in the midst of ruins, colorful sheets strewn above that make the sand glitter in pinks and blues, purples and greens. Alex steps inside the workshop, pushing his way through until he gets to the back, where he sees her working on the wings of a plane. 

“Maria,” he calls over to her.

She pushes her wide-brimmed hat from her head, squinting across the sand. Behind him, Isobel is poking at some of the machinery, while Max and Kyle quietly bicker about who’s going to get to ride in the plane. Alex rolls his eyes and stalks forward to get right to the point. 

“Is that Alex Manes or are my eyes deceiving me?”

“No time for teasing or pleasantries, Maria,” Alex says darkly, already in the process of checking which of the planes might fly. He’s testing the controls of the one on his left when he hears her protesting a loud, ‘hey!’, but he ignores it.

“We need to go after my brother,” he hears Isobel stepping in. “He’s been taken and we need the fastest way out to Hamunaptra. Alex says that’s you and your planes.”

Maria casts a gaze Alex’s way. “It sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” he agrees.

“It sounds like the sort of thing they wouldn’t let me do because I’m not a _man_.”

It absolutely does, but Alex doesn’t say it. He knows he doesn’t have to. This is why he’s come to Maria instead of any of his old acquaintances from the Legion. Besides that, he likes her more, and could stomach owing her a favor if things get rough. 

Alex raises a brow, hopeful and pleading, because if she doesn’t agree, he’s going to take the plane anyway, but he doesn’t have a pilot’s license, so it might not go so well. “I need a pilot. I need a great pilot,” he says, really laying on the praise. 

She narrows her eyes at him, as if she understands what he’s doing. “You had me at great pilot,” she says, and gestures to the nearest biplane. “Let me get her moving, then we’ll be up in the air!” She trades her wide-brimmed hat for an aviator’s cap, beaming like a woman unhinged with the possibility of a dangerous mission ahead, and sets to work on the plane.

The propellers have clearly seen better days, which unnerves Alex to the point that he needs to look away.

Alex walks away after Maria’s third attempt, shouting over her shoulder that it’s just sand and she’ll get them working in a second. Isobel and Max are eager to help, but Alex can’t remain. It feels like every passing second that they waste is one more opportunity to let Michael slip through their fingers.

He’s not expecting company, standing and staring at the horizon.

“We’re going to get him back,” says Kyle.

Alex glances over at the handsome man, who’s staring out at that same horizon in the direction of Hamunaptra. “Yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because if we don’t, the world ends,” Kyle replies, infuriatingly calm. “It does make it a little more pressing.” He studies Alex, watching the way he fidgets. “Have you known Michael for very long?”

“No,” Alex replies, bluntly. “He and Max hired me to take them to the city.”

“You were there before. I saw you there,” he says.

Alex squints at him, knowing that he’d placed Kyle on the ship, but, “That was you on the mesa?”

“My people swore an oath to defend the world from that creature. The battle you fought came precariously close to unleashing him, but no action was required.” Kyle makes a face, souring as he goes on. “Clearly, I didn’t think that you or your friends would be stupid enough to bring anyone back.”

Alex didn’t, either, but sometimes, accidents happen. Flint allying with the creature is far from an accident, but then, Kyle had it right. Sometimes, people are stupid.

“You care a lot about a man you’ve only just met,” Kyle notes.

It feels like a trap. It’s the sort of thing that he thinks would happen just before the police dart out to arrest him again for his proclivities, which is why he doesn’t say anything to Kyle’s probing statement.

“You said it best. The world ends if we don’t get him back.” Alex stares ahead, hoping that by lack of eye contact, Kyle will let the issue drop and they won’t have to talk about the fact that he’s desperate to get Michael back because of how he feels.

There’s no further questioning, so Alex feels safe knowing that even if Kyle doesn’t believe him, he’s willing to drop the matter. 

“We’re ready!”

Alex turns to see all the propellers on the plane gliding along, looking like they haven’t been sitting in an abandoned sand pit for the last few years. Suddenly, his view on the situation skyrockets with optimism, and he claps Kyle on the shoulder.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” he deadpans.

“You mean, the reminder that you better not fuck up or the world ends?”

“Right,” Alex agrees with a nod. “That one.”

He hurries back to the others, glancing to Maria one last time to make sure she knows exactly what she’s getting herself into. “Don’t look at me like that,” she says, before he can get a word in edgewise. “Whatever you need this favor for, it’s obviously important to you. If it’s important to you, then it doesn’t matter how dangerous it is for me,” she vows.

He exhales, relieved beyond the telling of it. “Thank you,” he says. “When this is all over, I’m buying you a drink.”

“When this is all over,” Maria says, her gaze sliding to Isobel Evans, “you can buy me a drink and some time with the blonde.” 

It’s the exact moment of relief that Alex needs. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he vows, and strides over to get his things. 

They’re going to get Michael back. He has to believe that, because there’s no alternative to the situation that Alex is even willing to consider. Either they get Michael back, or Alex intends to die trying. 

After all, Kyle’s right.

It’s not just his fledgling crush on the line. It’s the fate of the world.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the second seat of the plane is claimed swiftly by Isobel. 

Max mutters about taking the right wing while Kyle looks at the left before climbing aboard, and Alex shifts to snugly sit with Maria, curled in with her as she runs through the pre-flight checklist. “What’s so special about the brother?” she asks.

Alex says nothing, because Maria’s known him long enough that even a single word is going to have her figuring him out.

“Oh,” she says knowingly.

He’d forgotten that she knows him _so_ well that she can even figure it out with no words. 

“So it’s like that,” she says, soft enough that Isobel can’t eavesdrop, but loud enough to be over the propellers. 

“You know what happened the last time I let myself want someone. It didn’t go well,” Alex reminds her, trying to ignore the part where this time isn’t exactly going swimmingly either. He wishes he could escape the way she cups his cheek fondly, but seeing as they’re pressed up together in the front seat, there’s nowhere to go. “This time, an ancient curse brought a mummy back from the dead and he wants to take the man I’m falling for as a vessel for his boyfriend.”

Maria makes a face. “That’s more complicated than the back alley screw that got you locked up last time.” She hits the engines to get the plane going, adjusting her helmet. “He worth it?”

“He’s brilliant and a little brash and angry and passionate and I think he likes talking to me,” Alex says, feeling like he’s not making that up. “He’s a feisty librarian who’s been rejected even though he’s smarter than anyone else in the room, and he doesn’t deserve to be a mummy’s prize. I need to save his life.” 

Alex takes in a deep breath. 

“I don’t even think he wants me back, not completely, and he’s still worth it. Every single moment, he’s worth it.” Alex breathes out and looks at Maria. “Why are we only talking about me? What happened to that woman you were seeing? The other pilot? Rosie? Rosanna?”

“I can’t hear you!” Maria shouts at him, even though she could hear him plenty well a moment ago. She works the throttle and moves them towards the end of the runway. “Plane’s too noisy!”

So that’s how they’re playing this. 

Alex wraps his arms around her and holds tight. She’s a good friend to have and a better ally, so he knows he can trust her to get them to Hamunaptra with ease. Maria’s the best pilot he knows; it’s just that the rest of the world doesn’t want to acknowledge it because of what’s between her legs and the color of her skin.

Alex is used to being underestimated, ignored, hated. 

Maybe that’s why they’re so close.

She’s definitely going to be the reason they get to Michael. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Isobel scanning the horizon. With a quick check, he sees Kyle grappling to hold on, the wind running through his admittedly attractive hair (and if he hadn’t already run into Michael, he might have had a lot more feelings about that hair and that face, and the rest of his body). Then, it’s over to Max.

The trouble is that Max looks _worried_. Given how steady and even-keeled he is at most times, Alex takes that as a bad sign. 

“Does that look like a giant face to anyone else?” Max screams from the wing of the plane, drawing Alex’s attention to a sandstorm nearby. 

Alex squints and stares at it, trying to somehow come to terms with what he’s seeing. “Maria!” he shouts. “Lower! Lower altitude!” he insists, a touch panicky, because that is absolutely a sandstorm with a face that’s inching towards them with the intent to swallow them _whole_.

“What?”

The sound of the storm and the plane are drowning anything that he’s saying out. He grabs at the steering controls to try and jam them down, but she’s clearly not having it. 

“Get your hands off my baby!” she shouts.

“Avoid the mouth!”

“The _what_?” He sees the moment Maria sights the personified storm. Her eyes widen frantically behind her goggles, and if they weren’t facing death, Alex might even call it comical. “Oh, shit!” She slams them down, narrowly missing the way the storm seems to try and swallow them whole. 

The narrow escape works for now, but as Maria’s trying to gain altitude again, Alex can see it coming back around.

“I see the city!” Isobel shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth. “We should get to the ground!”

She’s right. It’s not safe up here, but this time, the storm is on their tail, trying to catch up to them. Alex has to imagine this is Amenhotep coming for them, trying to punish them for coming after Michael. 

He tries to lever a little out of his seat, pointing a gun over the back when Maria smacks at his arm. “Don’t be an idiot!” she screams. “You’re going to get us all killed. Sit your ass down, Alex Manes!” He doesn’t, not immediately, filled with a righteous rage at the thing that took Michael. “Sit! Down!”

When he can’t get a clear shot, he acknowledges that she’s right. 

“Hold on!” Maria calls to Alex.

Alex glances over his shoulder and sees the face closing in on them. The ground is still dangerously far, too far to jump, even as Maria tries her best to get down in the safest way possible. He settles in, gripping his seatbelt, and starts taking deep breaths, but even though Maria pushes the throttle as fast as she can, they’re swallowed whole.

He hears it, the instant the sand clogs up the propellers, and stalls them. They’re going down and there’s no stopping it. 

“Grab something!” Maria shouts, and when Alex checks to see if Amenhotep is going to send another sandstorm their way, he’s relieved to see the sand is drifting off in the atmosphere, clearly content with the fact that they’re plummeting. 

The creature is right to be smug and assume his work is done – even with the controls available to make an emergency landing, they’re still so high up. 

“You can land safely, right?” Alex demands.

“I’m gonna try,” Maria promises, shifting the angle of their descent so they don’t nosedive into the sand dunes below. 

The ground is approaching so much faster than Alex wants it to, and he presses both hands in the cockpit beside him, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Isobel is braced, his attention on the wings to Max and Kyle, and then on the fast-approaching sand below. They’re not hitting it dead on and the engines being cut off means they’ve lost some speed, but the angle is still too steep for Alex’s liking.

The ground arrives too soon, and they hit a mile outside of Hamunaptra. 

Impact hurts like a bitch, burying them in the desert sand. Alex feels a wave of disorientation and it takes him a few moments to reconcile what happened, but then he remembers. The plane. The face in the storm. 

_Michael_. 

He reaches down with shaky fingers to unbuckle, swimming in sand as he struggles to unearth himself from where he’s buried alive. If he works a little harder, if he claws at it a little more. He struggles to push up, his feet latching onto the body of the plane as a lever, and he hauls himself out into fresh air. 

Alex coughs up sand when he surfaces, checking on his limbs to make sure that nothing is broken. He shakes his hair like a wet dog to rid every grain of sand, digging his hands in so that he can reach for Isobel nearby, gasping for air like she’s drowning. “Come on,” Alex encourages. “Come on, move.”

The plane’s still intact but is half-buried, which is going to be a problem later. 

He manages to get Isobel out, then rushes back to the plane, which is shifting into the sand, inching deeper. Kyle and Max made it off the wings, likely thrown clear and safest of them all, but Maria’s still inside. 

“I can’t get out,” Maria says, the sand slipping in towards her seat. 

Alex looks to the city, then to Maria, stuck between two awful decisions. The sand around them is shifting enough that she’s in danger, which means he has to stay and help, but if he stays, then the odds of getting to Michael in time begin to plummet. Kyle could go ahead and help, but Alex feels a panic seize him to imagine leaving that to chance.

“Go!” Isobel snaps. “I’ll dig her out, then we’ll join you if we can,” she says, already sliding down to use a piece of the plane’s broken wing to start leveraging sand out of the crevices, straining to get at the seatbelt keeping Maria in.

If she’d taken it off earlier, she might be free.

Then again, she might also have crash landed and broken her leg. 

“Alex!” Kyle shouts. “If you’re coming, we need to move!”

“We’re getting Maria out first!” he snaps. “Come help!” 

Kyle lets out a frustrated shout, but he taps at Max’s shoulder and they hurry back. Alex knows that he’s risking Michael’s life (and the fate of the world), but if they all work together, they can get her free. He tries to brace the plane to stop it from sinking deeper, while Isobel digs at the sand and Max and Kyle each get an arm. 

“Pull!” Max barks, and Kyle hauls. She moves, which dislodges sand and threatens to bury her again. “Again!” 

It's the second time that gets her free. 

Alex lets out a sigh of relief as he sags forward and hugs her tightly, grateful that he hadn’t brought Maria to her death in his desperate rush to get Michael back. She’s okay. They’re all okay. 

“I think I might have undersold the danger of this scenario,” Alex admits, because he thinks Maria had thought this was dangerous because of the flight path and the patterns, not because a creature from another era would be trying to stop them at every turn. 

“It still beats sitting around an old junkyard of planes,” Maria admits, even if she sounds a little shaky. 

“We need to go, but…” Alex steps back, looking at the others warily. He hopes it’s clear that he doesn’t want to leave her out here on her own, but he also doesn’t want to ask any of them to stay without it being their decision.

Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to beg. 

“I’ll stay here with Maria,” Isobel says, stepping forward to volunteer. 

“Is the plane completely out of commission?” Alex asks, staring at it warily. 

“Maybe, but I won’t know until I can get it free. You should go, find your man,” she encourages with a nod of her head. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to Isobel,” she adds, but for good measure, Alex hands over one of his pistols, hoping that between the two of them, they’ll be able to handle anything the creature sends their way.

“We need to go,” Kyle snaps.

“Thank you, Maria,” Alex says in a frantic hurry, rushing to Kyle’s side before he gets left behind. “I thought I was impatient to get here,” he mutters, not actively trying to be an asshole to Kyle, but feeling like it deserves to be said.

“It’s just the end of the world,” Kyle notes sarcastically. “By all means, we could have stopped and waited for you both to exchange a secret handshake and share more secrets.”

Alex glowers at him and falls into step with Max, hating that he riles him up so much, and usually because he’s right. He’d chosen to help Maria and he knows that had stolen time from them, but he’s not about to let anyone die today, not if he can help it. 

The mile before Hamunaptra is spent in silence, each of them checking on their weapons during the approach. Alex hopes that they have the element of surprise, but it could be that Amenhotep has decided to proceed with his plans and deal with them then. 

When they come over the crest and look down on the city, it’s devoid of anyone. Flint’s not there, neither is Michael, and the creature is nowhere to be seen. 

“How well do you remember the tombs?” Kyle asks.

“I can navigate them,” Max guarantees, stepping forward.

“That place was a maze,” Alex says, grabbing at Max’s arm to stop him. “We should find something that’ll let us mark the path and remember where we’re going in case we get lost.” 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Max, but they’ve all been down there.

“I navigated trenches worse than this,” is Max’s calm, steady response. “I can do this.”

So it had been France where Max had fought. With that newfound information in mind, Alex lets go of him, nodding to Kyle to follow after Max. He hadn’t wanted to intrude or pry, but knowing that Max had seen and survived those horrors makes him feel better about who he’s going into the tombs with. 

Once they’re inside, it’s not long before they’re surrounded by pitch black, though there’s a steady source of noise coming from nearby – an echo of voices that says they’re not alone. 

Alex digs out his matches, looking for a place to strike them, then decides expediency is key. He strikes it along the rough stubble on Kyle’s cheek, earning a furious, “Hey!” that he ignores, as Alex lights up a torch to give them a way to light the way. 

“We need to find the right book,” Alex says, trying to ignore the chanting from nearby, quietly pleased about the irritated look on Kyle’s face as he lights the torch. “Ideally before that ritual ends.” He’s trying to count individual voices to figure out what they’re up against, but the more he strains to listen, the more there seem to be. 

“Michael said it would be in the base of the Horus statue,” Max says, as Alex lifts the torch up to the various ones.

He's gripped with a sudden panic when he can feel Kyle and Max’s eyes on him.

“What?” he demands. “Don’t look at me, I’m here to shoot things and rescue Michael.”

Max lets out a heavy sigh, like he’d been expecting the work to fall to him. “Not that one,” is what he says, gesturing for them to follow after him, creeping along so they don’t catch the attention of anyone. “The book should be here,” Max says, staring at the statue he’s come to a stop in front of. “It’s the diametric opposite of the one we found and this is definitely Horus,” he says, like he’s straining to remember what Michael once told him. Crouching down, with Alex lighting the way and Kyle watching their backs, Max knocks the base of the statue a few times.

The panel comes loose, falling away, and suddenly something shiny catches Alex’s eye.

It’s pure gold and has the same place for the key on the cover as the other book did.

“This is it,” Max says. He digs into his jacket to pull out the device that had started this whole mess. Alex is grateful for overprotective brothers, because after Michael had brought the creature back to life, he’d yanked it from him, ‘for his own good’. 

“The Book of the Living,” Kyle murmurs reverently. “Max, how well-versed is your ancient Egyptian?” 

“Michael’s better at the symbols.”

“Michael’s kind of busy,” Alex reminds him sharply. “Kyle and I are gonna go get him free, but you need to be the one to put that creature back in the sand. Can you do that? Open the book, read the words like Michael did?”

Max’s grip on the book is tight, but he nods. “Go,” he insists. “I’ll follow, and as soon as you get Michael free, he should do this.” 

“We might not get that chance,” Kyle says sharply. “Start.”

“Look, Michael and I talked about this sometimes, but he’s still better at Ancient Egyptian,” Max hisses. 

“Michael is currently being held captive by the creature that’s going to end the world,” is Kyle’s instant reply, shoving the book against Max’s chest. “Start reading.”

Max doesn’t look happy about it, but he gets his nose in the book and starts pacing as he reads, like that’s somehow going to help him out. Alex trusts that he’ll figure it out, and if he can just string the right sentences together, they’ll be able to stop the creature. It’s Alex and Kyle’s job to make sure they slow him down.

Whatever the chanting is, it sounds like a ritual, and Alex really doesn’t like the foreboding feeling that sinks into his stomach. 

Alex moves forward, seeing the light nearby in an open area. He reaches back to tug at Kyle’s shirt, nodding towards the area with a wary look on his face. That’s where the humming drone of voices is coming from. 

Kyle nods, using army code to signal which way they need to go. Alex peers at him curiously, wondering where he picked that up, but follows his lead. They creep forward, the torch no match for the brilliant flare of amber light near them, and when they move into the open doorway, it becomes instantly clear what’s happening.

Michael is down there, tied up with ropes, surrounded by the creature and a slew of mummified priests. The inky water that surrounds the little island shifts, jumps out, and Alex feels sick when he sees the Book of the Dead in the creature’s hands. 

“We don’t have much time,” Kyle hisses. 

“Yeah, I know. We need a distraction,” he says, eyes flicking over Kyle, then down to his own vest, before they slide over to the torch. 

Nothing says distraction like a stick of dynamite. 

Alex pulls it out of his vest and wiggles it, to get Kyle’s attention, and before Kyle can hiss that it's a bad idea, he reaches down for the torch to light the wick, throwing it in the opposite direction of where they are, down by a statue of Ra on the ground level. Kyle’s muttering about how bad an idea that is when it explodes, sending plaster, dust, and limestone shattering in the area.

The chanting stops.

Amenhotep freezes, then looks up, sighting them both. 

“I think we’re found,” Alex says. 

“You _think_?” Kyle snaps back at him, shoving him towards the stairs. “Go! Get Michael!” He draws back and readies his sword in one hand, pistol in the other as the mummified priests begin to lumber towards them. “I’ll take care of our friends,” he says, descending from the upper level in a swift hop, cutting down one of the priests as he moves, charging for Amenhotep. 

Alex knows he’s only going to get one shot at this, taking advantage of the distraction to sprint down the stairs, up towards the altar where Michael’s currently being worshipped as the intended sacrifice.

“You came for me,” Michael says, his eyes wide as Alex hurries to untie the ropes keeping him trapped. 

Alex opens his mouth to promise that he’ll always come for him when something wraps its cold, dusty hands around his face from behind. Muffled, he’s dragged away by a mummified priest, but Alex refuses to let that thing succeed. 

He's here to rescue Michael, he’s not about to let some dead asshole take that from him.

Planting his heels into the ground, he bends over to flip the creature forward, reaching for the rope that Michael is thrusting out to him from his free hand. Alex loops it once, twice, and then three times around the thing’s neck, kicking it off the edge of the platform as he makes a quick knot of the other end of the rope.

It’s a hangman’s solution for a dead thing that keeps on kicking, but at least it takes it out of commission.

Scrambling back to his feet, Alex brushes off his dusty knees and coughs out the taste of musty bandages from his mouth, getting to Michael’s left ankle next. “You’re never sacrificing yourself to a mummy again,” he warns. “You hear me?”

“I thought they’d kill you if I didn’t!” Michael snaps back at him.

“They almost killed us anyway!”

“Is everyone okay? Max? Isobel?”

Alex gestures to the top platform, where Max’s nose is buried in the Book of the Living as he walks back and forth, stopping to fire his pistol against some of the mummified priests. “Isobel’s out with our ride. She’s fine. They’re okay.”

Michael reaches for him with his free hand, gripping his shoulder to help lever himself up, having untied his other hand. “And you?”

“What?” 

“Are you okay?”

“ _What_?”

It only confuses him more. No one’s ever given a damn about him. Even now, he’s rescuing Michael, but he cares about how Alex is. “I thought I’d lost you,” he blurts out, like he’s been disarmed by Michael’s concern. Finally free, he grabs at Michael and hugs him protectively close, easing back to tell Michael that they need to move.

The look of frozen panic in Michael’s eyes is a bad sign.

“Roll!” Michael shouts, giving Alex the warning he needs to move before a sword cleaves down into the altar, clanging off of it. 

Alex rolls on his back, hitting his feet gracefully and grabbing the nearest heavy object (a big old torch), facing Amenhotep, who’s looking furious and less human than before for it. “I told you, you don’t get him,” he says, adjusting his grip. 

The priests nearby are being dealt with by Max and Kyle, which means that until Max can finish the incantation, Alex has got to keep this asshole busy.

“Alex!” Michael snaps, scrambling to grab the sword that had been lost when Kyle had chopped off a priests’ arm nearby. He stumbles to his feet, trying to get in between Alex and Amenhotep, wielding the sword and keeping the point pressed towards the creature. “You kidnapped me,” he grinds out. “You’re trying to kill me, all to bring back some boyfriend! And I’m still fucking single! Broke! Disrespected! And jobless!” he roars, lunging forward to stab the point of the sword through Amenhotep’s chest.

The creature stares at it for a moment, stumbling backwards two steps.

“Michael,” Alex sighs, because he has a terrible feeling about this.

He’s right to worry. Amenhotep slowly withdraws the blood-stained sword from his chest, waving it expertly. 

“And now he has a weapon,” Kyle scoffs. “How’s that translation going, Max?”

Michael’s neck snaps upwards, and he registers Max’s presence for the first time, by the looks of it, his eyes wide. “Max! You should have it by now, it’s only two lines!” 

“I’m stuck!”

“Back!” Alex shouts, and shoves at Michael to get him backwards, tripping over a raised stone as he tries to get them out of harm’s way. They collapse onto the ground, with Michael hitting first, his head smacking the dust. He shifts to get up, but he can’t, stopped by the priests’ cut-off limbs clawing at his legs, keeping Alex from standing.

With Alex struggling to help, Amenhotep strides forward to grab at Michael’s shirt, hauling him up from the ground.

“Alex,” Michael mumbles, sounding like his mouth is full of cotton. He’s being dragged to the edge of the inky water, and his eyes search wildly around him. “Max!” he says, panicking as he starts trying to escape, to try and dig his heels in, but Amenhotep has a sword and is positioning it along Michael’s neck, starting to draw droplets of blood.

“The bird!” Max shouts loudly. “Michael, I forget, the bird, what’s the bird…?”

“There’s like, forty!” Michael says, as Alex reloads his pistol to shoot the limbs that are keeping him in place. One shot, then another, and he’s free. He looks over his shoulder in a panic, seeing the way Michael is being pushed closer to the water, unearthly howls filling the chamber, while Amenhotep smiles, satisfied. “What bird?”

“Uhhh…”

“Oh my god, Max! Clues!” Michael snaps at him, letting out a yelp when he forcibly headbutts the creature to earn himself a few more seconds. Alex feels a sympathetic pang in his head, knowing that Michael’s going to have a headache tomorrow.

“Both wings in flight, angled up,” Max says, tipping his head to one side to study it, frowning, mimicking the bird with his arms as he talks. 

“Pa!” Michael shouts. “Pa, Max, it’s Pa!”

Alex uses his last two bullets, knowing that they won’t kill the creature, but he doesn’t need to kill it. The shots have their intended purpose, getting him off of Michael, allowing Alex to scramble in and haul him to his feet.

The triumphant phrases from above ends with an echoing ‘Pa’ along the chamber walls, and that seems to get Amenhotep’s attention. Michael’s still swaying, but nearby, there’s a spear tucked into the side of an old statue. Alex reaches for it, gripping it in his hands. 

“He’s mortal now!” Max shouts, hurrying down and drawing his gun to give them cover fire. “Do it!”

Alex reaches for Michael’s hand, forcibly making him clasp the spear, before Alex puts his hands atop them. Michael’s the one who got kidnapped, almost killed, and he’s definitely got more reason to do this, but the creature stole Alex’s family from him when Alex had so many plans to make them pay.

Then, he’d tried to take Michael.

He wants to be a part of his undoing. “Now,” he commands, and thrusts forward. The spear launches inches to the right of the sword wound, but this time, the blood comes quickly. Michael releases the spear when Alex does, as it goes clattering to the stones on the altar. 

Watching warily, holding his breath, Alex keeps an eye on Amenhotep, but he’s frozen in fear, as if he’s panicked and in disbelief about what’s happened. 

_He’s mine_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say, because Michael isn’t anyone’s. He’s a librarian, a clever and gorgeous one, and as much as Alex would love to lay claim to him, he knows better. So instead, he keeps an arm protectively in front of Michael, watching as the chaos around them collapses into a well-earned silence.

Each of the creatures’ allies’ collapses, one by one, until all that’s left is their master. 

Even he looks worse for the wear. 

He staggers back, arms out, and in his last moments, whispers a name on his breath. Alex turns away, ignoring it, knowing that he’d robbed the creature of returning his lover from the dead, but he’d tried to use Michael to do it, and he’d killed Alex’s remaining family in the process. His sympathy can only go so far.

“Uh, guys,” Max says, hurrying beside them. The mummified priests have collapsed to the ground, but the inky water seems more active than before, and around them, there’s a rumbling. 

Kyle looks up to their exit, shoving at Alex’s shoulder. “The structure’s collapsing. If we don’t move, we’ll be trapped,” he warns. “Go!” 

Alex pulls Michael into his arms to yank him along towards their entrance, but by the time they get there, an avalanche of stone walls and plaster cascades down and blocks the escape. Searching for another way out, he gestures for the stairs. “There,” he says, pushing at Michael, getting him to lead. “Keep moving up!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Michael guarantees, and starts leading the charge.

From behind him, Alex can see the blood staining his hair, and he knows that the very second they’re free, he’ll be tending to it. He’s so occupied with the blood in Michael’s hair and making sure that Kyle and Max are following that he nearly ends up tumbling all of them into the depths of the pyramid when he slams into Michael from behind.

“Holy shit,” Michael murmurs, having stopped instantly to cause the pile up. Alex waves a hand back to warn Max and Kyle to stop, but neither of them look very pleased. 

“Michael,” Alex says, trying to be as patient as he can. “We need to keep running!” He’s looking up at the dust cascading down from the ceilings, as the whole structure collapses down on the shiny, gold piles of…

Oh. 

“Holy shit,” he echoes, in amazement, staring down at their feet, where they’re dislodging gold coins with every step.

“Isobel’s gonna be so mad we didn’t let her come with us,” Max says knowingly, staring at the gold like he’s thinking about going down there to dig some of it out. 

Luckily, they have Kyle to keep them moving. He shoves at Max to get him moving, while echoing footsteps pound in the hall behind him. Alex grabs at Michael’s hand, twining their fingers together to pull him along. Now that he’s got him back, he’s not letting him go. They have to keep moving, or they’ll be the richest corpses that ever existed.

They keep sliding along the wall, but the treasure is everywhere and slows down their progress. Max bends to pick up a few pieces, shrugging when Kyle shoots him an icy look.

“I’ll keep moving,” he guarantees, tucking it in with the Book. “Trust me.” Three more bars are slid in, but it doesn’t slow him down. 

Michael’s in awe, and he clearly wants to stop to sift through the trinkets, despite the danger that keeps rumbling its reminder. 

“We have the Book,” Alex reminds him. “You’ll have what you need to write your paper.”

“Right,” Michael agrees, looking back at him, even if he _sounds_ unsure. “Yeah, of course.” He looks down to their joined hands, squeezes tightly, and then pulls Alex with him until they get to the final stretch.

He can see the sunlight ahead of him. Max and Kyle sprint at his sides, gold jangling in Max’s bag with the Book, Kyle’s weapons making plenty of noise. Alex pushes Michael to join them, turning over his shoulder when he sees a shadow. 

Everything undead had collapsed when Max had rendered them mortal, but there’s one person left unaccounted for. Alex keeps moving, sliding under the descending main wall when it starts to creep down too low for him to run under. Michael’s fingers claw at him, grabbing him out of the way and rolling him back onto his feet. 

“Alex!” 

He turns, as the walls continue to close. It’s Flint’s voice, desperate and pleading. There’s another sound, too, as he runs, like the sound of coins jangling, and Alex thinks back to that room of treasure and the footsteps that had followed and then vanished.

He must have stopped to fill his bags with the treasure. 

The walls are closing and soon, there’ll be no escape for Flint. He has to make a choice here.

“Fuck,” Alex mutters, and gives Michael a gentle push out. “Keep going. I’m right behind you.”

Michael doesn’t look convinced. “He killed your brother,” he reminds him. “He saw what that thing did to your father and he joined it, to save his own skin! Alex,” Michael begs, his voice right by his ear. His hands are all over Alex’s shirt as he hauls him back, frantically. “Alex, we need to keep moving. Please. He’s not worth it.”

Alex knows.

It’s why he’s staying. “It just means our father taught his lessons too well.” 

You survive, and you do whatever low, underhanded, selfish act to do so. It’s what Jesse Manes had counted on with his boys, and when Alex had rebelled, he’d been punished. He knows what Flint’s done, but Alex is better than that. He needs to at least try and help, because no one else in the family ever would. 

“Flint, come on,” Alex begs, inching closer to the wall, but Flint’s voice is still so far. “Run faster! Take my hand, I’ll get you out of here!”

He’s reaching aggressively, but the lower the wall gets, the worse the pit in Alex’s stomach gets. Then, it slams down, leaving Flint’s panicked cries muffled behind it. Slamming his palm against the sandy ground, Alex lets out a furious cry of helpless, frustrated rage. 

He might not be the best brother, but his actions had always been driven by cowardice and a fear of something happening to him, whether at their father’s hands or that of the creature. He only tried to look out for himself. True, he made terrible choices while he did so, but one wrong turn and that could have been Alex.

Another flurry of stones from the ceiling reminds Alex that he’s not in the clear yet. He grabs at the ground and hauls himself to his feet, running for his freedom as the pyramid complex caves in behind him, giving him even more incentive to sprint faster. 

It’s ten yards off, then five, and with one last burst, he escapes the musty tombs. 

The air changes around him instantly and for the first time in his life, Alex thinks that _safety_ has a taste in it, like the oxygen around him is charged. He doesn’t stop running until he staggers to a stop outside the perimeter of the city, turning to watch it crumble, with Flint inside it. 

In the span of a few weeks, he’s lost every last member of his family. 

Glancing over his shoulder to where Isobel and Maria are huddled together, Kyle and Max are standing there protectively as though something is going to burst free and they’ll need to shoot it, and Michael is standing there, nervously waiting, he doesn’t feel so bereft.

Family doesn’t put you in prison for who you love.

Maybe Alex had to make his own family for himself. 

Breathing raggedly, he looks back to his group, heading towards them. His eyes slide to Michael, but though Michael holds his gaze for a moment, there’s someone in between, preventing Alex from closing the space between them.

Kyle reaches out with a hand, clasping Alex by the forearm to bring him in for a handshake, preventing him from instantly making his way to Michael’s side.

“Thank you,” he says, the most sincere he’s sounded since Alex first met him. He pulls him in a little more, like he’s about to share a secret. “Now,” he adds, “I don’t want to see you, your boyfriend, or his family for the next twenty years.”

Alex opens his mouth to protest that Michael isn’t his boyfriend, but watching Michael hug Isobel tightly, he’s not sure he wants to fight that anymore.

“What,” Alex deadpans, “and miss all the fun and antics? Let’s make it two years.”

Kyle’s lips are pressed together in his best estimation of a stern expression, but there’s a glint in his eyes that’s mischievous and delighted, like he’s looking forward to another adventure. “Split the difference, call it ten?”

“Deal.”

Alex can’t help his rueful smile, because the thing is, Kyle’s not so bad. He might be blatant about his irritation with Michael and the Evans twins for unleashing the apocalypse onto the world, but they were also instrumental in stopping it, so he can’t help but think that maybe they can call that even.

Alex leaves Kyle behind, heading towards Isobel and Maria and Michael, while Max packs up a group of camels nearby – which explains how Flint and the creature had made their way out here.

“There goes all that treasure the stories talk about,” Isobel sighs, even as Maria rubs her back as if to soothe her. 

Alex knows that she hadn’t been in the crumbling tombs, but he feels like she should just be happy they all got out of there with their lives intact. Then again, Isobel looks like she’s been having a fine time out here, given how friendly Maria already seems to be with her. 

Alex raises a brow at Maria, but the way Maria lifts her chin and ignores him says everything he needs to know.

“No gold for me, no notoriety for Michael, but at least it wasn’t boring,” Isobel intonates, and Alex bites down on his tongue before he says something rude and loses her favor.

“I don’t know,” Maria comments, drawing Isobel away so they can help get the camels ready from the expedition Flint had led here. “I got plenty of adventure myself, and the day’s not done yet. Maybe you might get what you want after all.” Given that Alex knows for a fact one of Max’s bags has a few gold bars in it, Isobel’s going to be fairly content at the end of all this. 

Then again, from the intent note in Maria’s voice, Isobel’s in for one hell of a night.

Alex casts another look to the others, watching Kyle and Max get the camels ready, joined by Isobel and Maria. They’re far enough away that he and Michael have some privacy, which Alex is desperately grateful for. 

Michael’s staring at him with a fond look and he advances the two steps that remain between them, getting plenty close. He slides his fingers into the loops of Alex’s belt to hook them in, tugging Alex a step towards him, even as Alex tries to resist, because old habits do die hard. “I got something too,” he says, sounding like he’s using all his courage to speak.

Isobel makes a fake-retching noise, muttering to Maria that she needs a blindfold for her eyes, but Michael isn’t paying attention.

Clearly their privacy is more of an illusion than anything else. 

“You’re so frustrating,” he tells Alex, beaming at him like he’s just given him a compliment instead of insulting him.

“Me?” Alex scoffs. “You literally ignored every warning I gave you to go charging through Cairo to try and solve this on your own. I don’t even get near being frustrating when you’re around.”

“You crashed a plane coming to get me,” Michael replies. Alex feels like this is the strangest flirting he’s ever done in his life, but there’s no missing the way his words are dripping with mischief and mirth, his eyes sparkling with need. “You even put up with me panicking and setting a map on fire, because I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss you.”

There’s a frisson of hope that takes away Alex’s breath, staring at Michael.

“I thought that meant you didn’t feel the same.”

“I’d never kissed a man before you kissed me in the prison,” Michael murmurs. “I didn’t know what to feel.” 

He’s looping his arms around Alex’s neck to hold on, leaning in to brush their noses together. Alex’s heart is pounding from fear and panic and hope, knowing that their family and friends won’t turn them in, but he’d let himself be hopeful to kiss Michael before, only to be turned away. 

Breathing out raggedly, Alex closes his eyes and lets himself bow forward, his body relaxing for the first time in years, he thinks.

“And how do you feel now?” Alex asks him, barely more than a hopeful whisper.

Michael grins at him, like he’s got all the answers in the world. When he leans in on the tips of his toes and kisses Alex so hard that he fumbles back a few steps before he regains control, Alex lets out a relieved sobbing sound that might just be a moan. 

It could be relief. 

It could be need.

Or it could simply be the soft sound of a man who was shown treasure, notoriety, and adventure, and only wanted this kiss with Michael, eager and sweet and clumsy.

They’ll have time to slow it down. They’ll have time for a second, then a third, and hopefully hundreds more like this one. For now, Alex indulges in their _first_ real kiss, sinking back onto his heels and letting the warmth of the kiss flood his body until he feels as soft and sweet as honey, as warm as though a fire has been struck up to keep him warm.

When he eases back, Michael’s eyes are still closed, and he breathes out raggedly. 

“I feel,” Michael says slowly, opening his eyes as he rubs his thumb over his own lower lip a few times, like he’s gauging the sensation, “I feel as if I could do that again.”

The skin around his lips has pinkened from the roughness of Alex’s stubble, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Alex tips his head to the side, staring at him fondly, and thinking that Kyle hadn’t been so wrong. 

Maybe it is Alex’s duty to make sure his boyfriend and his family don’t come traipsing through any more tombs anytime soon. 

“Are you okay?” Alex asks softly, cascading his fingers through Michael’s hair, where it’s sticky with blood from the fall earlier. “I think you’re going to be in a lot of pain tomorrow,” he admits, giving him a fond smile. “You know,” he adds, summoning up the courage to take this beyond just a kiss and move them to the next step, “you’re not supposed to sleep on your own if they suspect you have a severe bump on the head. People die from that all the time.”

Even though he’s just faced down a creature of the undead and his army, this feels like it takes far more bravery than that ever could.

“Maybe tonight, I can stay with you.”

“On one condition,” Michael says, rubbing his head gently, his fingers brushing up against Alex’s as he does, leaning in for a chaste little kiss as if he can’t go a few moments without it. Alex drifts from the kiss, his nose brushing against Michael’s as he lets out a soft breath of relief, a laugh that he’s been holding in finally escaping. “Can we please take a break from mummies for a while?” Michael pleads.

Alex grins at him, feeling warmed by the sun and Michael’s affections. “Of course,” he says. “After all, you’ve got a paper to write so that you can become very famous and make all of Cairo regret that they didn’t acknowledge Michael Guerin.” 

If Alex thought he’d been warm before, it’s nothing compared to the blinding warmth of Michael’s smile. 

“Let’s go back to Cairo,” Alex coaxes, kissing Michael’s cheek as he wraps an arm around his shoulders and leads him to the camels, where their friends and family are waiting for them with warm, accepting smiles. 

Alex gives them a nod when they turn to begin leading the way, allowing Alex to relinquish his title of guide and accept a far better position. 

He's their friend, their family, and more than that, he’s _Michael’s_ , heart and soul.


End file.
